


The Valley of the Shadow

by TheRiverScribe



Series: By the Grace of God [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Season/Series 12, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel Healing, Angel Sam Winchester, Angel Wings, Angelic Grace, Anxiety Disorder, British Men of Letters, Cage Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Consent Issues, De-Aged Sam Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enochian, Episode: s12e01 Keep Calm and Carry On, Episode: s12e02 Mamma Mia, Ezekiel | Gadreel Possessing Sam Winchester, Family as Flock, Flashbacks, Fledglings, Flock as Family, Gen, Grace Bonds, Hurt/Comfort, Lucifer's Cage, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Post-Season/Series 11 AU, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Castiel, Protective Gabriel, Repressed Memories, Team as Family, Torture, Trauma, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-08 01:37:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 39,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8825044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRiverScribe/pseuds/TheRiverScribe
Summary: He knew the occupants of this building.Knew their names.Knew their routine.  And today was the day.





	1. The Shepard

**Author's Note:**

> Enochian is in BOLD.  
> Thoughts/angel-radio is in /italics/

The dawn broke pale through the trees. Fog rolled across the forest floor like a living entity too solid for the weak winter light to dispel. The world slept in silence a moment longer.

A man stood beside a large SUV, dressed in a black suit and unaffected by the temperature. He used binoculars that cut through the fog and dark to stare into the woods. The familiar cement bunker came into focus and the man made a mark in his notepad. He knew the occupants of this building. Knew their names. Knew their routine.

And today was the day.

 

* * *

 

A scream rang out through the bunker. Gabriel instantly abandoned the notes he was making in his cookbook and appeared in Sam's room next to the boy flailing on the bed. The small figure had blankets wrapped around his entire torso from restless sleeping and now he resembled a mummy. It would have been amusing if it weren't for the heaving sobs and frantic battle against bedding.

“Shh, Sam, it's okay. You're safe,” Gabriel tried to soothe as he carefully began to untangle the madness.

This whole thing was breaking his heart. Sam had only allowed himself to sleep in the shared bedroom for two more nights before insisting on returning to his own room. That was a week ago. After one quiet night, the next six had all ended the same way—with Sam screaming himself awake. It seemed as though the boy's grace, in the process of sorting the centuries of memories, was fueling night terrors with constant new material. And each one was like a badly healed bone being re-broken.

 _I just wish he wouldn't keep us at a distance,_ he thought. Since returning to his bedroom, Sam had demanded they leave him alone at night and refused the angels' offers to watch over his increasingly troubled sleep. He had agreed to their intervention when the nightmares reached screaming-level, but only because he feared his grace surging and hurting others. Gabriel knew part of building trust included listening and adhering to boundaries, and there was a natural order to healing the mind that just had to happen with time. But that didn't mean he had to be alone.

Gabriel finally got the blanket to fall away from the face streaked with tears and sweat. He resisted the urge to snap everything into order, but they learned the hard way not to use grace until Sam was awake enough to talk to them. He and Castiel still had a few feathers that carried small static shocks—a leftover from the fledgling's electric storm when Gabriel had instinctively reached with his grace to connect and reassure. After that, they stuck with methods limited to the five human senses.

“Get out! Get out! Out! Out! OUT!” the boy shouted in English, which made Gabriel pause. So far, Sam had always woken up speaking Enochian, sometimes sticking with the angel's language for several hours before switching back to his native tongue.

Castiel flew in on the other side of Sam's bed already reaching to help with the blankets. “What do you need?” he asked what was becoming their routine.

“Not sure yet.” Gabriel shook his head and continued their conversation silently. _He's using English, so it's either an early cage memory, or it's from his life up here._

Opening his senses as much as possible, he tried to catch any stray clues pouring out of the distraught kid. He saw random images of the bunker's library. An Asian boy with burnt out eyes. A terror different from Lucifer.

Hazel eyes snapped open, pupils blown and still focused on his dreams' echos. Sam ripped one arm free and grabbed Gabriel's wrist, sinking tiny sharp nails into his vessel's flesh. “Get OUT! Now!!”

“Sam? Sam, it's okay. You are in your bedroom in the bunker. Dean and your mom are down the hallway. There's nothing happening right now. You just need to wake up, Sam.” Gabriel coaxed as he ran fingers lightly up and down the arm digging into him.

The boy laughed and it gave the angels chills at the empty sound. “You _wish_ I thought nothing was happening. You think you can just keep me here, ignorant and content in your illusion, while you ride me,” he spit out the words though a clenched jaw, his eyes focused somewhere over Gabriel's shoulder, “Get. Out. Now. You murdering piece of shit.”

“Cas?” Gabriel breathed without taking his eyes off the furious ball of rage. _Little help?_

Castiel didn't answer him, but instead sat on the bed facing Sam. He brought his hands to rest on his lap when he spoke, “ **Samuel, look at me. He is not here. You are in your bedroom, not inside your mind. I promise, Gadreel is dead. Remember?** ” Gabriel started at the angel's name—no one had been eager to share that story with him yet.

Disbelief shone clear on the fledgling's face. Sam tightened his hold on Gabriel even as the archangel continued trying to calm him with the rhythmic brushing against skin trembling with adrenaline. “I said get out!” Fear broke into his voice and his brow furled in confusion as he muttered to himself, “I don't...I don't understand. It should work. I've cast you out—you have to leave!”

Castiel leaned forward, radiating earnestness, “ **It is not working because we are not in your mind. Gabriel and I are real, and we are all awake with you in your bedroom. You had a bad dream, Samuel.** ”

“A...what?” Sam's eyes darted from Castiel's face to Gabriel and finally focused when he really _saw_ the golden grace. Enormous eyes traced where the light flowed back to manifest the wings rising to frame floppy brown hair. The archangel was daily grateful for his brother discovering the boy's fascination with their wings—they were one of the most powerful tools in dealing with Sam in this state.

Today was no different. The trembling stilled in the automatic rush of delight and awe brought on by the sight of the glowing feathers. It provided the necessary jolt to Sam's brain that allowed his most recent memories to rise up and surface. Nails scratched against Gabriel's wrist as the boy tried to release his grip and pull his arm away. Gabriel wrapped his free hand around Sam's and helped pry the unresponsive fingers out of the grooves they were digging. He rubbed the small palm with his thumb to relax the muscles further. Looking up, he caught the guilt pooled in the Sam's eyes as the boy saw the indentations.

“ **It is fine. You did not hurt me. See**?” The skin was returning to its normal state, leaving only red marks that were already fading. Sam's concern remained, but now that the relief of returning to the present was wearing off he began to shake again from the inevitable emotional fallout.

“Everything okay here?” Dean stood at the doorway, wrapped in his robe and looking exhausted. A week of interrupted sleep and no hunting meant naps were starting to become a more frequent event in the bunker. Today was definitely shaping up to be a nap-day.

Gabriel was about to respond when Castiel's hard voice answered first, “We do not need assistance. Go to the kitchen.”

Dean took a step back at the tone, and Gabriel stared between the two. He had never heard the angel speak to the hunter with such cold dismissal. Sure, they argued like an old married couple, but this was different—it had both Castiel and Sam on high-alert at the hunter's appearance.

“Cas?” Dean asked hesitantly without coming any closer. His gaze moved to Gabriel, but the archangel shrugged, just as lost. He had absolutely no context for this particular moment.

Static sparked up Gabriel's arm from where he still held Sam's hand. “Whoa there, kiddo. What's going on?”

“ _Go,_ Dean.” Castiel's order didn't allow for disobedience. Dean frowned but turned to stalk toward the kitchen. They heard Mary's voice from down the hall and Dean's muffled response. Once the two humans had faded through the bunker, the seraph turned back to Sam. The boy yanked his hand free of Gabriel and started tearing angrily at the blankets still trapping the rest of his body.

“ **Peace, Samuel. We will help you. Just relax.** ” The switch back to Enochian settled the frantic movements long enough for them to unwrap the bedding. The second he was free, Sam scrambled off the bed and stood between the door and them with his arms wrapped around himself. “ **I know you are angry and upset, and you are justified. However, you must try to calm down or Gabriel will have to help, and I do not believe you want that right now.** ”

Sam shook his head violently and shuffled a step away. Electricity ran through him, glowing white-violet as it arced along his skin. His eyes lit like a thunderstorm.

“ **Can you speak, little one?** ” Gabriel asked calmly as he stood. Sam never let them get away with calling him such pet names when he was in his right mind—but in moments of pure instinct and distress, the boy usually responded well to them. He shook out his wings to serve as a visual reminder of the archangel's capabilities and a grounding presence for Sam to focus on. It didn't hurt that it also made him more ready to act if the child lost control.

For a moment, he feared Sam wouldn't reply and he'd be forced to drain the building grace again. They'd only had to do that once since leaving the shared bedroom. The first night of nightmares had trapped Sam in a cage flashback, shocking anyone who came near until Gabriel had stepped in. After feeling the archangel's grace against his own, Sam didn't speak English again until the following evening. He really wanted to avoid repeating that experience. Especially when their daily grooming sessions were a much more effective and enjoyable way to maintain grace.

Finally, Sam gave a short nod and took a breath. Some of the sparks settled down. “ **I talk.** ” Power spilled into his voice—an impressive feat for such a young and inexperienced

Gabriel smiled reassuringly. “ **Good. We are going to go outside a little early today, and practice how to channel all that energy out safely, okay?** ” He had promised not to forcibly intervene if the boy could still speak, and he would keep it. “ **Do you want me to fly us, or should we walk?** ”

Sam looked toward the door and shook his head. They all knew there was no route from his room to the exit that didn't take them past the kitchen. “ **Fly,** ” he said, resigned.

The archangel walked to Sam and held out a hand. He would rather pick the shivering child up, but knew the affection wouldn't be accepted yet. Castiel stood and grabbed one of the boy's hoodies that hung off the desk chair. Once they stood together, Gabriel flew them to their nightly-used fire pit.

The morning air, damp and cold, had layered frost across the litter of leaves on the ground.  The film of ice glistened in the muted sunlight. Grabbing a blanket from the pile they kept beside the ring of rocks, Gabriel shook it out. Grace flooded through the fabric, cleansing and heating each fiber. He laid it out and brought a fire to full blaze in the pit with the flick of his wrist.

Turning, he saw Castiel tugging the hoodie over Sam's head. As soon as the boy was dressed to the seraph's content, they both settled onto heat-infused pillows. Steam filled the air where the two temperatures met.

Gabriel stepped back. “ **I will be right back. I need to grab something.** ” They nodded and he was off. It took a few minutes of searching through a dust-filled forgotten house before he found what he sought. As soon as his hand grasped it, he returned to the fireside.

Sam sat hugging his knees to himself, face buried in the material of his sleep pants. Castiel was silently running his fingers through the mess of curls to keep the fledgling calm. He looked up when Gabriel arrived and gave a small nod.

 _So, what do I need to know to maybe not trigger him further?_ Gabriel asked silently as he sat down carefully next to the two on the blanket.

Castiel studied the boy for a minute, then turned his gaze back to Gabriel. “ **I asked Samuel who he wanted to have tell you the story, and he decided to tell it himself.** ”

“Oh!” Gabriel was surprised. Getting Sam to volunteer information was never easy. Of course, just keeping Sam verbal was enough of a challenge. To have both occur directly after a nightmare or flashback was an act of Chuck Almighty. It was a show of trust the archangel wasn't expecting. “ **Thank you. I will be honored to listen. But first we must get you balanced before you flood out. Come on, pill-bug, unroll it.** ”

Between the two of them, the angels were able to draw Sam out of the ball he was curled into. When they were all situated comfortably, Gabriel held up the object he'd retrieved. It was a clear polished quartz with lines of pure gold suspended in bursts throughout the center. The surface was covered in minuscule symbols that appeared burned on.

Pressing it into Sam's palm, Gabriel explained, “ **This is a focal stone. I made it when I first left Heaven. It allowed me to intentionally drain my grace enough to not be tracked by any of my more ambitious siblings. I used it daily until I found a better long-term solution.** ”

He watched as small fingers wrap themselves around the glittering smooth stone and a look of understanding settled on the too-young face. Sam opened his mouth a few times before actual sound came out, “ **It pulls.** ” The boy started to hand the stone to Castiel, but paused and looked to Gabriel with the clear question on his face.

Gabriel nodded his permission and sent Castiel a smirk. _Do you think the would ever do that to Dean? Because I am not above ensuring that situation comes about..._

“ **This is very warm.** ” Castiel studied the sigils with a squint. _It will probably happen without you needing to do any set-up after this morning._

Gabriel grimaced at the reminder of his and Sam's future conversation. Clearly, it was _at least_ as bad as he imagined. Probably much worse, knowing the Winchesters. Out loud, he continued his explanation, “ **I know, awesome, right? I used it so many times I think it is trained to tug on any grace it touches. Also, I seared strengthening sigils onto it, that make this gem virtually indestructible. It is built to withstand a massive influx of power for long periods of time.** ” Gabriel smiled, a little bitter, “ **I had anger issues in the beginning and no where to direct my energies. Anyway, it is like a pocket grace-compactor. You do not get back what you put in, but it does condense into pretty, pretty colors.** ”

“ **What do I do?** ” Sam asked as Castiel returned the stone.

“ **You know how, when we groom, we follow the natural paths of energy flow until we find a blockage? Well, you are going to push your own grace along those paths, gathering up all that excess energy that is building just under your skin. Push it down through your arms and the stone's draw will guide it right out.** ” He gave Sam an encouraging nod when the boy looked at Gabriel with uncertainty.

It took almost an hour to get Sam's eyes to stop glowing and for the static storm to quit rolling across his skin. Gabriel was fascinated by Sam's grace—energy in the form of lightning was a rare manifestation among the angels. And none were as powerful as this young one. Thankfully, Sam was an exceptional student and picked up on everything rather quickly. They were able to avert a disaster without drastic action. He'd take it as a win.

With a heavy sigh, the boy rested his head against a pillow and curled onto his side away from Gabriel. The shift in mood was sudden and he looked to Castiel for any insight. His brother gazed sadly at the dejected figure. Stretching on his stomach across the blanket, Castiel lowered himself down so he was face-to-face with Sam. The seraph had taken to being on the boy's level as often as possible.

“ **Are you well, Samuel?** ” Castiel asked in a whisper.

Gabriel saw the boy nod his head, “It's okay, Cas. You go ahead. I know you want to talk to him. Just don't...don't smite him.” The humor was edged with honesty. Castiel's lack of smile turned Gabriel's grace.

“I do not believe I am the one you must convince to not harm your brother. Gabriel is who you should worry about.” Castiel said in seriousness.

"Hey!” Gabriel interjected with just a drop of offense. “I have a little more self-control than that, thank you.” They ignored him.

Sam put his palm against Castiel's forehead and pushed. “Go on, Cas.” The angel flew off without bothering to sit or stand first. The silence was instantly heavy and he watched the boy curl in tighter.

“Are you sure you're okay with this, Sam?” Gabriel asked when several minutes ticked by without change. He couldn't see anything but the back of a lumpy hood pulled over tangled hair.

A startled sniffle made Gabriel want to scoop him up. Instead, Sam pushed himself to sitting and failed to discreetly wipe his face before facing the archangel. “Yeah, sorry. It's been a while since these memories were this clear. Some are kinda...new.”

“Oh,” Gabriel said with understanding. The poor thing was constantly finding buried pieces of his past, mostly from the time his body and soul spent separated. “Take your time. I'm sure those two will stare disapprovingly for twenty minutes or so before someone speaks. There's no rush.”

Sam huffed a laugh, “No kidding.” He took a deep, shaky breath, “Cas told you about the trials he and Metatron did to close Heaven. Well, while all that was going down, I almost completed the trials...to close the gates of hell.”

Gabriel gasped in horror, unable to even form a reply. Apparently, he didn't need words for Sam to understand.

"I know, I should be dead. I was at the very end of the third trial—curing Crowley of being a demon. Then, Dean busted in and stopped me, but the damage was done. He got me to the car just as the angels fell. I saw them burn in the sky right before I fell into a coma. Doctors said I wouldn't make it, so Dean...” he swallowed hard, and his breath shook, “Dean put out a prayer to all angels, asking for help. One showed up and said the only way he could save me was if he possessed me as a vessel and fixed the damage from the inside. Dean gave consent. And helped trick me into saying 'yes.'”

“He what?” Gabriel finally reformed a connection between his brain and his tongue. He had never heard of an angel taking a vessel without consent. He didn't even know it was possible.

Sam shrugged and looked down to pick at the blanket, “The guy said he was some angel named Ezekiel. Dean later found out that Ezekiel had died in the fall. It wasn't until I... _he_ killed our friend Kevin and Crowley used Heaven's mind-breaking methods on him that they learned it was Gadreel. So, Dean told Crowley to _also_ possess me and tell me about the _angel_ possessing me so I could kick Gadreel out. Because I didn't know I was possessed and being kept locked away in some illusion while Gadreel carried out Metatron's orders. So I did. Cast him out, I mean.”

“You had a the angel Gadreel and Crowley 'king of hell' both possess you at the same time?” Gabriel clarified in a quiet but charged voice.

The boy nodded and unconsciously rubbed his left shoulder before dropping the hand to clutch his left palm. It was a gesture Gabriel had witnessed several times since his arrival. The only real explanation he'd gotten so far was Castiel telling him how Sam had used an old injury to fight off hallucinations of Lucifer. But it did seem like it occurred more frequently during certain discussions. Usually concerning Sam's control over his own body and mind.

When clutching started causing damage, Gabriel intervened. “Hey there, kiddo,” he said softly, reaching to rescue the poor palm. He repeated his earlier actions, massaging the muscle with his thumb. “Was that what you dreamed about?”

Sam nodded and looked away from their hands. “I hated it. Cas found leftover grace in me after I evicted Gadreel, and I just wanted him to get it _out!_ I couldn't stand the thought of him leaving something behind in me.” His free hand started scratching at his neck, quickly leaving red streaks across the exposed skin.

This time, when Gabriel tried to reach for him, Sam jerked back. “No,” he said with panic skirting the edge of his voice, “No, I don't need you to hold my hand.”

“It's not so much about holding hands as it is keeping you from hurting yourself,” Gabriel said calmly but didn't reach for him again. “Would it help to wear some gloves?”

Sam shuddered as he considered it, then shook his head. “No. It would be worse.”

“Why worse?” he kept his tone curious and light.

“Because it cuts off sensation. Makes me feel stuck inside, unable to really feel things directly.”

“That makes sense,” Gabriel nodded, mind whirling, “Does pinching your palm and scratching help to feel things more clearly?”

Sam's eyes shot up to meet his, surprised to hear his behavior be understood by someone other than Dean. “That's one way of putting it.”

“Hmm. What's another way?”

The boy shrugged even as he began to scratch absently at his forearm under the hoodie. “Things feel different in the real world. Or on Earth, anyway. I've spent a _lot_ of time questioning what is real—even before the cage when Meg possessed me and I found out about Azazel bleeding into my mouth as a baby. It just seems like every time I turn around, someone is telling me that everything is either a lie or an illusion, or there's something _wrong_ inside me. Part of me still expects to wake up in the cage with Lucifer telling me it was all just an elaborate game. Especially when reality reaches bizarre levels...like now.”

Gabriel's jaw dropped open in shock. _Holy shit, Cassie!_ _Holy fucking shit! What in Dad's name...!? Did everyone just lose their fucking minds after the apocalypse?_

There was a pause. _Yes, frequently._

 _Did you know Sam still thinks he may be in the cage?_ Gabriel inhaled heavy through his nose.

_I...no! No, he's never said..._

_And no one's ever asked him._ It wasn't a question.

 _I do not know about others, but that is not a conversation I have had with him._ Guilt bled through Castiel's true-voice.

Gabriel mentally waved off his little brother and concentrated on Sam. The kid was wringing his hands to keep from scratching, and he looked miserable. Standing, the archangel brushed out his pants and offered Sam a hand up. “Why don't we take us a morning stroll? I'll show you how to test reality with your grace in a way that doesn't hurt. Did you know we can talk to the trees?”

Sam's eyes lit up as he took Gabriel's hand.

 

* * *

 

Mary sat in the kitchen, nursing her third cup of coffee in silence. She had been waiting in the kitchen with Dean since he'd stopped her running toward Sam's now-familiar screams. All he would say was that Castiel told him to leave without giving an explanation.

“And Sammy? Was he...sparking?” she'd asked, wanting nothing more than to barge down the hall and into his room. The angels had told them to stand back a few times, but never to flat-out leave. And there hadn't been a whisper of noise coming from the bedroom area since they sat down which made her want to check it even more.

“Not when I first got there,” Dean answered, worry etched into his frown, “He just looked _mad._ But then he zapped Gabriel pretty good, so maybe they knew it was coming?” He looked just as adrift as she felt. There was comfort in their shared confusion.

An hour later, they were still waiting and contemplating their dislike at being shut out. Castiel's sudden arrival startled Mary enough to send her coffee flowing across the table. The scrape of Dean's chair and half-yelled, “Jesus Christ, Cas! Wear a damn bell next time!” told her she wasn't the only one on edge.

“Mary,” the angel nodded at her. Then, his eyes hardened and turned to her son, “Dean.”

“What the Hell, man? Did I piss in your Wheaties this morning or what? What made you so mad overnight?” Dean scowled at his friend.

“I don't...” Castiel started, caught off guard by the unfamiliar reference, but quickly moved forward, “I am angry because I spent the morning convincing Sam he is not trapped in his own mind while under angelic possession.”

Dean paled. “Gadreel?” his voice was tight.

Castiel nodded and some of his fire seemed to dim with an ancient exhaustion. A waved gesture removed the coffee from the table as he retrieved the pot to refill her mug. Pouring one for himself, he sat at the end of the table with the humans on either side. “Yes, Gadreel. Sam dreamed of him last night. I thought it best you not be there until he was fully awake.”

“I don't think I've heard his name before,” Mary said, trying hard to remember all the things she'd learned in the past week or so.

“We don't talk about him a lot,” Dean mumbled as he scrubbed a hand over his face, “Couple years back, Sammy did something trying to save the world that almost killed him. I mean, he was seconds from being reaped by Death-himself when I found someone willing to help.”

Castiel cut him off, his anger rekindling, “No. You put a distress call out to every angel who had just fallen to Earth, then gave consent to force possession on your brother to the first one who showed up. An angel who used Sam's body to murder friends and strangers. An angel who locked Sam inside a hallucination. Which led to you allowing the King of Hell to _also_ possess your brother to convince Sam that Gadreel needed evicting. Consent of a vessel is a fundamental facet of an angel's existence. Even Lucifer abides by it.”

Mary gaped at him but had no chance to say anything.

“I know, I know,” Dean raised his hands in a placating manner, “I did things the wrong way. I should have been honest with him from the start, then a lot of things may have been different. You wouldn't have had to leave the bunker, for one. But Cas, he wanted to _die!_ ”

Something softened in Castiel's face at hearing Dean's obvious pain. “I am not arguing that you Winchesters are both incapable of perceiving your own self-worth. Less than two weeks ago, _you_ walked into a confrontation with enough souls to destroy the Darkness. Do not be a hypocrite,” he said the words as a plea.

Mary had learned about those events within minutes of encountering her oldest son in the cemetery, but it hadn't felt real then. Not when she was contemplating time travel and resurrection while wearing the nightgown she'd died in. Now, she knew each of them, saw how they cared about each other, and heard stories of the lengths they've all gone to save the others. What a desperate cycle of self-sacrifice and mourning these three have lived in for years... She realized Castiel was still talking and made herself pay attention.

"What I _am_ saying is you need to understand the gravity of your actions two years ago if you desire any kind of reconciliation on the matter,” Castiel paused and studied the man to his left. Mary was slowly growing accustomed to their stares, but it still unnerved her when they got too intense. “Dean,” the angel said after a moment, “why do you think Sam is still so upset about that whole situation?”

Dean blinked, “Uh, I guess...it's because I lied to him. And I let an angel possess him, obviously.”

“You both lie to each other on a constant basis. The possession was, in and of itself, a heinous violation—your repeated insistence that he is overreacting, however, not only belittles the act's impact on Sam but downgrades the scope of your own responsibility.”

Mary watched Dean look up at the ceiling and silently mouth words to himself like he was trying to figure out what Castiel had just said. It took him a second before his face twisted in outrage. “You think I don't feel guilty enough for saving Sam's life? And I don't think he overreacts about Gadreel—I just think that, of all the things he's going to hold against me, I've done worse. Remember me chasing Sam with a hammer? All I'm saying is...I wish he didn't consider me saving his life a worse memory than all the times I've tried to kill him.”

“Guilt is not the same as taking responsibility, Dean, I—hold on,” the angel put up his hand and winced like he had a headache, “it's Gabriel.”

Pushing her mug away, Mary struggled between the rising-heat of nausea and the urge to laugh hysterically. Every single morning since her resurrection, she woke up swearing that today would be the day. Today, there wouldn't be any new soul-crushingly terrible things from her boys' past to learn. It just wasn't possible for two people to survive so much. But each day she learned something new, and it always seemed worse than the previous tales.

Castiel sucked in a breath, signaling a return from 'angel-radio' with Gabriel. She looked up to see an unsettling devastation on the normally stoic face. He stood and paced a few steps before turning to gaze directly at Dean with...was that _tears_ in his eyes? Mary had never considered whether or not angels were capable of crying, but seeing the answer now was incredibly upsetting for some reason.

“Did you know there are times when Sam still thinks he's in the cage?” Castiel asked, his voice the lowest she'd heard it.

“He what?!” Dean barely got the words out. He went from pale to gray and his earlier outrage vanished as he pushed back from the table like he might get up too. Instead, he leaned forward, elbows on knees and head hanging down.

“Do you know what it means to question reality all the way down to your very existence? To have your sense of self stripped away until you've even lost your name? For someone else to impose their will over your mind and body? Because I do. Both by my own actions with the Leviathans and Lucifer, and the actions of others—Heaven's reprogramming and Rowena's spell. It is only now, as I rediscover more and more who I am, that I realize how much I lost in those moments.” He took the seat next to Dean and held his hand out, saying, “I want to show you something.”

“Like, 'travel to the past' show me something? Or 'we're gonna walk to the next room' show me something?” Dean asked skeptically, shaken from Castiel's revelations.

“I want to show you what your brother feels when he remembers Gadreel,” the answered with his hand hovering steadily.

"Why?” Dean gulped and leaned away.

“Because while you say you don't believe he's overreacting, you do not have the understanding to appreciate how _little_ Sam has reacted at all. Because you _must_ have that understanding if Sam is ever going to trust you to not do it again. Because if you want your brother to choose life over death, you can't force him through something to which death is preferable.”

They stared at each other, Mary forgotten. She could barely breathe through the heaviness in the room and in her heart. With her hand over her mouth, she tried not to let her knee bounce as she waited.

Finally, Dean nodded though his body shook with nerves. “Yeah, okay. Do it, Cas.”

Castiel didn't immediately reach out, giving Dean a chance to change his mind. When her oldest son simply nodded again, the angel stood and walked behind Dean's chair. Leaning down, he placed his hand on Dean's chest, pulled him firmly back into his chair. Blue-eyes blazed with incandescent light. The effect was instant—Dean gave a strangled gasp that continued into a growling whine as his eyes grew wide in terror. His body jerked and flailed and would have fallen to the floor if not for Castiel's hand.

It was over in less than a few seconds. The light faded from Castiel's eyes and Dean collapsed against the angel's hand with half-sob, heaving breaths. Mary felt frozen—a helpless intruder.

Castiel dragged a chair closer and sat next to Dean without breaking contact with the man. “I'm sorry. I did not wish to hurt you.”

“He was so scared,” Dean whispered, grasping Castiel's hand to his chest, “And there was this _pressure_ _inside_ , and it...oh God, it felt so _wrong!_ ” Tears streamed over his cheeks unchecked. “It was everywhere, but there was no way to respond...no body, no arms or legs, to control. He was just so confused and scared and in pain. And I did that?

Castiel wiped the tears from Dean's cheeks with his thumb and gave a simple nod. “You facilitated the means for it to happen. However, you did not possess your brother yourself.”

Dean snorted and his face morphed into self-disgust. “If I set someone up to be...violated by some asshole, I'm just as guilty as the asshole.”

“I am relieved to hear you say that, Dean.” Castiel said, removing his hands from the hunter and leaning back into his chair.

“You...what?” Dean said in utter confusion. He looked torn between whether he should calculate how offended he was allowed to be or accept Castiel's recrimination as penance for his crimes.

“I did not show you that as punishment. I showed you because you need to understand. Sam needs you to understand.” The angel gave a small smile that was more of a grimace, “The issue of Gadreel will not fade into the background like it has in the past. Sam is different now—he can't compartmentalize his feelings and thoughts anymore. As he integrates more repressed memories into his consciousness, he may struggle with recognizing reality. He will never move past this if he continues to fear you repeating your actions. And that will always be his fear if you never acknowledge what your role cost him.”

“Yeah, I get it now.”

“You do?” There was no judgment or accusation in Castiel's voice.

“Well, you only showed me a flash of Sam's emotions, but I at least have an idea of how much I _didn't_ get it before.” Dean's green eyes shone with the weight of understanding, “But that was...I don't really have anything to compare it to. I still feel like I need to inject bleach into my veins to get clean. I mean, I've been cursed before—witches, Djinns, angels. I even got possessed by Eve's ear-slug and killed a hunter! But it didn't feel like that. I can't...if that's how he felt with Gadreel, I can't fucking imagine how it was with Lucifer. ”

Castiel did grimace this time and looked over Dean's shoulder. “He is not an easy presence to co-exist beside.”

“Shit, Cas,” Dean whispered, then grew louder, “Shit! How much have I missed? How many times have I swept something aside when you two have felt like this?”

“It is not all the time, but there have been occasions where you did not, perhaps, see the extent of how something effected us.” Castiel answered honestly, but with warmth.

“I don't...” he cut off with a sigh, “Can I ask you to not let me do that? I don't want to be that person, Cas. I've made a lot of mistakes over the years—some I'm still finding out about. We've talked about a few big ones, but we probably haven't even mentioned most. If dealing with Chuck's family drama taught me anything, it's the importance of making amends with those you've hurt. Especially if they're also the ones you've loved.”

“And preferably before they break the universe,” Castiel gave a smirk that had become more frequent since Gabriel's return.

Dean laughed sadly, “You're right. How many times have we gotten to that point, though? More than a few by my count.”

“Yes,” Castiel nodded, “But we've always managed to put it mostly back together.”

“'You break it, you bought it?'”

“Something like that, although I do not wish to own the world. I do not make a very good god.”

“I don't know anyone who really does.”

They shared a smile, and then the angel wrapping Mary's son in a fierce embrace. The sight became blurred by tears as they sat there for a few minutes in silence that was comforting instead of tense. When they pulled apart, she wiped at her face and tried to smile.

Castiel looked at her with those piercing blue eyes. “Mary,” he said as he stood and came to kneel next to her, “I apologize. It was unfair of me to exclude you so much from this conversation.”

“It's okay, I wasn't really up to forming words for most of it anyway,” she said while shakily straightening the angel's collar. His trench coat tended to always shift around on his shoulders without the angel knowing it. Or maybe he just never realized he could fix it.

Hands reached up to still her fingers and she saw him watching her with concern. “I'm sorry,” he said it in a way that made her think he was apologizing for more than ignoring her.

“For what?” she asked, slightly baffled.

“I'm sorry that every day you learn a new way your sons were failed by those who should have protected them. Each of these events on their own could overwhelm a person—to hear of so many events in such a short period of time must be incredibly heavy. You are a very strong person, Mary Winchester. I can see where the boys get it from.” His sincerity was always verging on shocking to experience.

“Well, thank you, Castiel,” she said slowly, turning his words over in her head. It seemed absurd—to equate the deeds of these three heroic people with her ability to hide her internal panic. Mary was still floundering from moment to moment, barely keeping her head above water. She frequently caught herself gripped by a surge of certainty that her babies, the ones she'd left behind two weeks ago, needed her _now._ Then, Dean would laugh or Sam would scornfully berate Gabriel for some unbelievable hi-jinx, and she would remember that they _survived_. Without her by their side, they still managed to scrape by enough to make it to today.

“You are here now, and you are needed now,” he said with a glance at Dean who was wiping his face with a cloth, “None of us can change the past, and we learn to adjust quickly because our futures change drastically here. But that does not mean we forget what we've lost—or who we've left behind.”

“Yeah,” she choked with images of John and the babies.

“Please let us know if you need something. Even if it's just someone to listen, or 'Netflix and chill.' That is one of my favorite coping mechanisms.”

“I have no idea what a 'Netflix' is, but it sounds interesting,” she smiled, humbled by the intriguing offer.

Castiel stood and gathered their cups to wash in the sink. “Neither did I, but—”

A blinding flash of white blasted the room and Mary screamed as she tried to cover her eyes. The sound of Dean's shout and glass breaking barely registered in the painful brightness. It ended just as quickly as it started and Mary held tightly to the table, blinking away the afterimage burned into her vision.

“Mom!” Dean barked. She heard him stumble into the table and felt the vibrations as it screeched across the floor. “Mom! You okay?!”

“Yeah, I think so,” she felt disoriented, “What happened?”

“I don't know. Cas is gone and it looked like an angel banishing, but I've never heard of a sigil being effective from a distance. Which means someone may be in the bunker.” He pulled open a kitchen drawer and pulled out two guns. Checking both with efficiency and speed, he handed one to Mary and motioned for her to follow.

“Are you sure he's okay? What if it...” she didn't want to say it out loud, frantic with worry for him and the others.

But Dean was shaking his head, “No, if an angel gets killed it burns their wings into the ground. Banishing angels is usually bright and flashy, but that was nuclear-level. I've never seen anything that strong. We need to find Sam and Gabriel.”

 

* * *

 

Sam kicked up leaves on the trail back to the bunker. He always felt lighter after these sessions in grace-work and getting to listen to a tree's thoughts and words was his new favorite thing. It didn't even matter how much Dean was going to make fun of him because Sam was already planning on doing that again before nightfall. Maybe even a few times.

Gabriel was explaining the trees in different regions of the world, and how they all communicated in a unique way. When they entered their picnic clearing, his words cut off abruptly and it made Sam stop walking and look back at him. The archangel was staring ahead with a look of shock and horror on his face.

The woods lit up in an explosion of energy. Pain ripped through Sam and he fell to the ground. Screams poured from his throat as it suddenly felt like his grace-soul was trying to tear loose from his body. He laid, convulsing on the ground, unable to do anything but watch as a shockwave of light launched Gabriel's true-form into the atmosphere, barely contained in his vessel.

Slowly, the pain ebbed enough that his screams turned to sobs and he tried to breath through the pain. Footsteps crunched toward him and he tilted his head enough to see a man wearing a black suit coming closer. Sam's limbs spasmed uselessly and whimpers escaped with each tight breath. All of his senses were on fire and his brain felt like it had been shredded by a cheese grater.

“Well, look at you. Aren't you just an incredible delicious little thing?” The newcomer's voice was deep, though not as deep as Castiel's rumbling bass, but what stood out was the accent—British. Same as the woman who had shot him.

The man knelt by Sam's head and stared at him with curiosity and a dark spark of dangerous glee. A tattooed hand appeared in front of his eyes and firmly wrapped around Sam's jaw, tilting his head back. Sam kicked out with his feet, trying to push himself away from the hand but the grip was unyielding.

“None of that now, little halo,” the voice soothed. Cold, smooth metal fell across his neck and Sam really started to panic. The hand lifted his head and the metal slipped underneath, sliding across his skin until a loud 'click' was heard. “Good boy! That'll keep ya from hurting yourself and others.”

 _Oh God, it's a collar,_ Sam thought as the hand released his jaw and roughly pet his hair. It took him a moment to realize the collar's purpose. Gabriel had been getting Sam into the habit of using his grace to reach out and explore. But when he tried to reach toward the collar and man, there was nothing. His connection to his grace was gone. He could feel the grace sitting there under his skin, but not interact with it. Kinda like his limbs at the moment.

Whistling to himself, the man flipped Sam onto his stomach and cuffed his hands. The cold ground cut into his face as he felt cuffs snap onto his ankles. Then, his body was swung high into the air until his abdomen landing on the man's shoulder. It punched the air from his body and Sam almost vomited down the suit back. He half-wished he'd at least had coffee so he could spew something just out of spite.

They walked for a while through the woods, away from the road and bunker. Neither spoke, although for Sam it was less a personal choice and more the lack of breath he could get while being bounced on his stomach. They came out on a dirt road, little more than a wide trail. A black SUV sat parked in the brush. The man pressed a button on his keys and the trunk slowly slid open.

There were no back passenger seats in the vehicle. Instead, there was a heavy-duty animal pen built into the interior with bars covered in ancient symbols. “In ya go!” the man said cheerfully as he swung open the little door and dropped Sam onto his knees in front of it. A hand pushed between his shoulder blades and he fell into the cage. He heard the door latch and lock behind him. When he rolled onto his side and looked, the man had his hand on the trunk hatch and was staring at him with a cold smile. “Oh, I do love getting a new baby monster.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hang in there, ya heathens!! And leave me some comments...my soul is hungry...  
> But for reals, your words to me and our shared discussions fuel my work and birth ideas!! Thanks for everything :)


	2. Thy Rod and Thy Staff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence involving the little halo.

Dean paced through the bunker war room with an ax, furious with desperation. It had been almost an hour since Castiel disappeared and they were sitting ducks. Every possible exit was sealed by magic. Mary sat researching dispelling rituals in case it didn't break down on its own. He threw the ax down on the ground and collapsed in the chair across from his mother.

“I can't even break the glass!” he growled in frustration. Mary didn't respond. In fact, it looked like she hadn't even heard him. His voice gentled, “Mom, you okay?”

“I may have found something,” she answered, distracted.

“What is it?” Dean asked, eager to _do_ something. Anything was better than bouncing an ax off thin glass.

“It's a spell to break binding magics, but it will break _all_ magic—not just whatever is keeping us in here. All the warding from before and the new stuff Gabriel's been adding will be gone. It could potentially break any enchantments on objects you have stored in the bunker. But it should get us out.” She knew the decision would not be made lightly. Dean could tell from the skepticism written all over her face.

“Shit. That's not a good option,” he buried his head in his hands, trying not to feel like everything was spinning in chaos, “We haven't found _half_ the shit kept in this place. Who knows if some enchanted potion bottle explodes and sets off a chain reaction?” He shuddered, imagining them being dissolved in acid or shrunk to the size of insects or something equally awful.

The sound of a sob made Dean snap his head up. Mary was bent over the table, fingers gripping the leather-bound book until her knuckles turned white. He was out of his seat and around the table in a flash. “Mom, it'll be okay. We'll find them. I promise. If anyone can get out of sticky situations, it's those three.” His hands gently pulled her back up so he could wrap her in a hug.

“I know, it's just,” her voice broke as she tried to talk through the crying, “I've lost him too many times over already. I lost him as an infant. Lost an entire childhood and sending him to college. Lost him each time he died and came back without me there. Lost the adult son he grew into and now I finally found him only to lose him again.” Laughter tinged with hysteria ebbed quickly, leaving a resigned weariness. “I know they are all capable, powerful individuals. I know Sammy's not _really_ a child, but he _is_ physically defenseless. I mean, he still struggles with balance while walking in kids' shoes. It's not exactly like he's battle-ready.”

Dean forced a laugh, “Mom, Sam started learning basic self-defense when he was four. Yeah, he's still getting used to being small, but he's got decades of hunting experience at his disposal. And even more knowledge of lore. Hopefully, they're all together, or in a position to help each other. We need to get some eyes outside...” He pressed a quick kiss to his mother's head and walked back around the table. “Let's table that spell for right now. We can keep it as a last resort, but I've got an idea.”

“Your father started training you kids at four years old?” Mary asked emptily.

Dean paused, “We didn't let Sammy find out about the supernatural world until he was older, but dad still had him training. Things like how to get out of holds and physical stuff like running and push-ups. Dad wanted us to be able to defend ourselves once he knew what kind of things really existed.”

“He made you do push-ups? At four years old?” She didn't sound relieved at all.

Dean felt his cheeks burn. When Sam would point these things out, it had always made Dean feel a familiar bubbling anger and need to defend their dad's actions. Over the years, that response had tapered with the growing understanding that Sam wasn't wrong. His own experience as a father to Ben had only reinforced the realization that John's parenting skills sucked.

“I know. It's not normal, and it isn't what you wanted for us. But it kept us alive, and hopefully Sam won't even need it. He could be on the other side of the front door while we're sealed up in here. So we can...” he shuddered at even the thought, “talk about dad later, okay? Let's get out of here first.”

Mary nodded, wiping her tears and taking a deep breath. “What was your idea?”

“We've got this friend—I think you'll like her,” Dean answered with a grin as he scrolled through his contacts. He hit 'dial' and put it on speakerphone, “Jody Mills! How's my favorite sheriff?”

 

* * *

 

Sam had no idea how long they'd been driving. The windows were so tinted he couldn't make out anything through them. The only light came in through the windshield and it was interrupted by trees and bridges and clouds. Usually, he could judge time by his body's physical reactions when he was in restraints. It happened often enough that he knew how long before his muscles would shake, or burn, or go numb. But he had no experience in this new body.

His kidnapper didn't talk to him while driving, so Sam took advantage of the silence to think through his options. He sat in the corner across from the cage door, directly behind the front passenger seat which allowed him to see both the driver and the doors. Helplessness was no excuse for ignorance and he planned on paying attention to everything.

The collar was upsetting. Not just the effect it was having on his grace, but its very presence. Humiliation and fear rose every time the metal shifted across his skin. Enemies always loved to wrap things around Sam's neck—usually crushing hands trying to strangle him.

Grace buzzed along his arms and spine. It had been building since the blast, reacting to the light-explosion but not anything Sam tried to do. If he was in the bunker with Gabriel and Castiel, he would have already asked for their help. Drawing his knees to his chest, Sam buried his face against the soft pajama pants. Which was a bizarre thought—him willing to ask for help. From angels.

A wave of longing hit Sam hard as he thought of the others. He hoped Gabriel was safe and unharmed by whatever that light did to him. It had looked like an angel banishing but juiced up to be something far more powerful than they'd witnessed before. Certainly strong enough to reach Castiel inside the bunker.

Leaning forward caused the collar to dig into his throat until panic choked him even more. Shifting back pushed his arms down and they burned with the strain. Irritation ate away at his focus. _Cas! Gabe! Where are you? I'm in a black SUV. I don't know where, but we're driving. I hope...I hope you're both okay._

The inside of the SUV fell dark. He turned to look out the front window and saw a concrete ceiling—they had driven into a garage or compound. Sam's heartbeat pounded against his chest and he forced himself to breathe through his nose so he didn't hyperventilate. He tried to arrange his body into a better defense position, but quickly discovered there wasn't one.

A deep chuckle came from behind Sam, and he twisted to see the man staring at him in amusement. “Not sure what you're doing there, but if rolling around on the floor makes you feel better then by all means, go ahead.”

Sam stayed silent as they parked, fear thrumming under the surface. The man whistled as he got out of the vehicle and moved around to the trunk. It opened to reveal a three-car garage with a door leading into another building.

A woman with a severe bun, sharp face, and large gun hanging across her shoulder walked through the door. “It give you any trouble, then?” Her voice was lower than Sam expected. He wondered if there was some vocal requirement here, and if they'd try to recruit Cas...

Dizziness made their faces swirl in spots of light and Sam realized he'd been holding his breath. Gasping in air, his vision cleared to show the woman much closer. She peered into the cage, studying him. He studied her back.

“No trouble at all! It was all rather easy, actually,” the man sounded disappointed, “I sent the ArchJoke and other halo a few systems over. You should have seen its face when it realized it couldn't sense me!”

“Powerful and useless,” the woman scoffed and shook her head, “Go ahead and get this one settled, Shepard. The old men are anxious for any type of report. If he really is some kind of angel-infant, then he's the first since humanity's creation. They want to know everything.”

“Right away, mum,” he gave a half-mock salute and unlocked the cage door.

Hoisting her gun, she pointed it through the bars, “No funny business, itty bit. You're only as cute as a diseased puppy. I will not hesitate to put you down if I think you'd bite.”

Sam stared down the barrel of the gun, remembering to breathe, as the man grabbed both his ankles in one hand and effortlessly pulled him out. He quickly found himself hoisted over the man's shoulder again and tried to map out their area as they went through the door. The place looked like an abandoned clinic recently cleaned and reopened.

Old benches lined the walls of a waiting area decorated in pictures of pets and advertisements for flea medicine. The air smelled musty and stale with an eye-watering blast of strong, familiar cleaners. Sam's stomach clenched as they went through a narrow hall that led to an area with steel tables and a large kennel. They were in an animal hospital.

There was a metal clanging noise and Sam felt the arms lower him. Hands flipped him around and laid him on his stomach on a sheet-covered floor. He only managed one push with his cuffed legs before a large hand clamped onto the back of his neck and squeezed painfully.

“No!” the man's voice turned harsh for the first time and Sam immediately stilled. The pressure increased as the man leaned closer. “Learn to listen, little halo, and you'll be fine. But if you fight us, or ignore us...if I see even a hint of those pretty baby teeth, you will _not_ be fine. Understand? No, don't try to nod. I've heard you prattle on about everything from Enochian translations to the philosophies of pop song. I know you can talk, so use your tongue. Do you understand?”

Sam's jaw clenched in outrage at the implication that the man had been watching them. He had last discussed the language with Castiel while Gabriel groomed their grace four evenings ago, and music the following morning. How had these people managed to spy on an isolated bunker filled with paranoid hunters and powerful angels? Fear blurred into fury that left him shaking, but knowing they had plans beyond killing him made him determined.

“Oooh, Shep, I think you made it mad,” the woman laughed.

“You should have seen how they spoiled him. Always petting and fussing over him, playing games and catering to every whim.” The man—Shepard—snapped the cuffs open and hauled Sam to his knees by the grip on his neck. Before Sam could react, the hoodie was pulled from his torso. The move yanked his arms above his head and he couldn't stop the pained gasp.

“Are we _sure_ this is Sam Winchester?” she asked.

“Definitely. Don't let this angel-face fool ya. He's still the same person who worked with dark creatures and released a whole host of other shit into this world. And he remembers everything. More now, actually—including all the details of the devil's cage.” Without the hoodie, the cold air leached any remaining warmth from Sam's thin body. As soon as the sleeves slipped off his hands, his body tilted forward. Shepard stopped his descent by grabbing a handful of Sam's shirt without effort.

“That will make the old men happy. I just didn't picture him being this quiet. Or small. I mean, I've read your recent reports, but after seeing so much footage of the giant he was just a few weeks ago...”

“Well, be thankful for small miracles. Smaller is easier. Size is out of his control.” Fingers covered Sam's jaw and tilted it up until he was face-to-face with pale, cruel eyes, “This silence, though? That's about spite.” He paused, like he was waiting for something. Sam stared at him. “Still no answer?”

Sam's eyes glanced over at the woman. She was leaning casually against the bars, but her hold on the gun was solid and it was still pointed directly at him. Looking back at Shepard, Sam narrowed his eyes and took a chance. It wasn't like these arrogant pricks could do worse than Lucifer. “Screw you.”

Shepard dropped his hand from Sam's face and gave a vicious smile. “Wrong answer.”

Sam slammed into the bars of the cage when the man backhanded him. It was like being smashed in the face with a baseball bat. His body curled inward on instinct, muscles screaming as he tried to shield his head with limp arms. Crumbling onto the cement floor, he had a brief moment of gratitude that his back had hit instead of his head. There was enough ringing in Sam's ears without being bashed against metal poles.

A bruising grasp clamped onto his wrist and dragged him to the center of the kennel. Sam blinked through blurry vision to see manacles that seemed to be a recent addition drilled into the floor. Two small metal bands lay open at the hinges and separated from each other by roughly two feet of space. His wrist was pressed tight into one and the manacle glowed briefly when snapped shut. It was almost too tight, leaving no wiggle room to even turn his hand. The man stretched Sam's free arm to the other restraint and repeated the action while Sam watched, stunned and disconnected from what was happening.

The new position was awkward and uncomfortable, forcing his body low to the ground. His palms stuck straight out from the manacles and hovered a couple inches above the ground, providing no leverage to hold himself up. He couldn't roll onto his side or sit up. The most he could hope to do was push up on his forearms and elbows and maybe get his knees under him—and he would rather lay flat.

The choice was taken from him when Sam's foot was grabbed and he strained to keep his chin from scraping as he was pulled back a few inches. His shoes and socks were removed and thrown out of the cage. “What do you think, Ms Watt? Do monsters get to wear pants?” the deep voice sounded both frustrated and amused. Not a reassuring combination.

“On a normal day, or when they've been bad?” 'Ms Watt' asked in a bored tone.

Shepard chuckled and reached for Sam's pajama pants.

“No, please!” Sam finally rasped, squeezing his eyes shut in shame for giving in at all.

“Oh, it's 'please' now, is it?” Shepard mocked, but left the pants in place. “How quickly the tone changes! Well, let's see if some quiet time works on that attitude.” He gave Sam's hair a rough sweep of his hand and stood up. Grabbing the sheet off the floor, he walked out. Ms Watt locked it and followed Shepard to the door.

Sam turned his head as far as he could to watch them. He saw the woman glance his way with an empty smile. “Rest while you can, puppy. Hopefully you'll remember your manners when we return.” She flipped a switch and the room plunged into darkness. Emergency lights kicked in and emitted a faint red glow from somewhere outside his range of vision.

As his eyes adjusted to the loss of bright florescents, the red seemed to grow stronger, reflecting off all the metal surfaces of the hospital. For several minutes, all he heard was his own heavy breathing and rush of blood in his ears. His cheek felt fractured from being hit and the cold ground eased some of the pain at first. However, the rest of his body was losing heat quickly through the concrete.

Sam shivered as he tried to adjust his shirt by shifting his body and pulling the material against the ground. The fabric had been pushed up to his chest when Shepard yanked off his shoes. Thin cloth offered almost no protection against the freezing floor, but it was better than bare skin.

A fan kicked on in a loud, grinding roar and Sam's whole body jumped. It alarmed him further when icy air poured into the room. Soon, his body was shaking and trying to curl in on itself, but couldn't with his arms clamped down the way they were. Echoes of Lucifer's laughter overlapped with the deafening air conditioner and Sam squeezed his eyes shut, praying someone found him soon.

 

* * *

 

 

Somewhere in a galaxy approximately 1.6 million light years from Earth's home in the Milky Way, an archangel clutched tightly to a smaller seraph as they both fell blazing through space. Gabriel had only been able to catch hold of his younger brother by chance as they had been propelled from the Earth by an object humans shouldn't even know exists, let alone have and be able to operate.

The banishment had been mixed with other components which left the angels' wings bound and unable to stop their uncontrolled hurtling. But the further they got from Earth, the weaker the binding grew until Gabriel was finally able to extend his wings. It was enough to redirect their course and slam them onto a comet.

 _Hold on Cassie!!_ Gabriel's true-voice screamed.

Ice shattered in an explosion as they crashed several miles into the massive space debris' surface. When they came to a stop, their vessels were slightly shredded despite trying to shield them with grace. Gabriel didn't wait for Castiel to heal himself and just pieced them both back together with a thought. Wide blue eyes stared in horror out the tunnel they had created in the collision.

 _Gabriel, where are we?!_ Castiel sounded shaken to the core. _What happened?_

Stretching out all six of his wings, Gabriel tested them by jumping them a mile closer to the asteroid's surface. _Whoa! That was weird. I can physically fly but I can't fold time and space as I go. It's like going from a space rocket to a pogo-stick!_ He jumped them four more times, each time going a little further and feeling his control strengthening. They emerged onto the breathtaking ice-giant, stunned by the beauty of their Father's creation. _Oh my Dad—this is Barnard's Galaxy! I haven't been out this way since it first formed..._

 _Gabriel, what happened?_ Castiel finally repeated even as he continued to stare around at the sea of stars.

 _Sam and I went for a walk and we came back to find a man sitting at the picnic table. But I couldn't feel him, Cas! It was like he was just this black hole of nothing. I could see him with my vessel's eyes, but that was it._ Gabriel shook his head, remembering how shocked he'd been. Especially when he had seen what the man was holding. _Cassie, he has a Tear._

 _A what?_ Castiel turned to him with a frown.

 _A Tear of God! He has a Tear of frickin' God! And he knows how to use it, which is way more upsetting..._ he trailed off to contemplate that thought and jumped them a few hundred miles across to a towering mountain of crystallized water and rock. He few more of those, and he'd be strong enough to start the journey home.

 _I thought those were just a myth,_ Castiel commented.

_That's because no one has seen them in ages._

_What are they?_

_Exactly what the name implies—Tears of God. The story goes that there were three times in all of creation that our Father truly wept. We're talking full-out ugly crying, not some single man tear. In each of those occasions, the tears solidified into an orb of immense power. There was a fourth major orb formed the day we defeated Amara—it was actually the first. But Dad immediately used it to create the Mark that locked His sister away._

_They are that powerful?_ Castiel asked with wide eyes as they jumped into the tail of the comet and stared in wonder around the cloud of gasses.

Gabriel pushed as much grace as he could into his wings and felt most of the binding finally break away. It wouldn't take long for it to completely dissolve once they really got going. _They are the most powerful artifacts in existence. Let's just say it's a good thing I caught you on the way out of Earth's atmosphere or you may have never made it back._ He sighed mentally. _They were supposed to be under guard, locked away in Heaven's weapon stores._

 _Ah, yes. Well, many of them were emptied and hidden in caches by various factions during Heaven's civil war._ Castiel turned away in obvious embarrassment and brushed icicles from his trench coat.

 _We may want to check on that. But first things first,_ Gabriel held out his hand and Castiel took it without hesitation, _Let's go save us some Winchesters._

Gabriel took off with an almighty crack that pulverized the comet below their feet. Even with the ability to fold the universe around them, he knew it would still take time to return. He let loose his grace, ramping them to breakneck speeds even by angelic standards.

Suddenly, in the cold silence of space, a small scared voice reached the angels' ears. _Ca...abe...are yo...ack SU...I don't kn...ere...driving...I hope...oth okay._

Gabriel gasped. A second later, he felt Castiel's grace surge against their bond, pouring in to help fuel their flight. The archangel squeezed his brother's hand and tried to answer back to the lost fledgling. _We're coming, Sammy!_

* * *

 

 

Sam lost track of the passing hours. He had counted the fan turning on and off a total of three times so far, but there was no way of telling if it had a set schedule or if the two Brits were manually controlling it. His body shook hard with a cold that sat painfully in his bones. During the second arctic storm of air conditioning he'd given in and forced his knees under his chest. It was less comfortable, but would hopefully allow him to retain some body heat. Rescue was pointless if he froze to death first.

Grace built steadily through the hours of disuse. Sam couldn't tell the difference anymore between muscle aches, needles of numbness, and the crawling static of grace. It made him shake worse and tears trickled down his nose to pool on gray concrete.

 _'We've done a lot more with pain.'_ Lucifer's voice sang through the room and the red-light glow intensified.

Sam clenched his eyes closed against the flashback and tried to recite the Enochian alphabet. He reached for the memory of Castiel tracing the ancient language in warm grace against his back, patiently explaining each symbol Sam couldn't guess, and smiling proudly when he got one right. The fire crackling warm and pleasant, bright flames dancing around Gabriel's special never-burning-out cedar wood.

 _'All I got is you, floating over the coals with half a hope that you're gonna figure it all out.'_ Lucifer taunted him. The flames rose up as cage bars returned. ' _You poor clueless son of a bitch. Your world is whatever I want it to be, understand?'_ The devil burned cold around Sam and he curled his body tighter against the pain and panic.

“ **Pa, Veh, Ged, Gal, Or, Un,** ” Sam's teeth chattered as he forced air and sound with a tongue that felt swollen, “ **Graph, Tal, Gon, Na, Ur, Mals, Ger, Drux, Pal, Med, Don, Ceph, Van, Fam, Gisg...** ” As soon as he reached the end, he started the letter names over again.

 _'I'm bored! Pay attention to me!'_ The collar dug into his throat as he tried to suck in air. Stuttered Enochian was met with laughter that slowly circled closer. ' _You look good on your knees, pet. How long have I kept you there now, hmm? Seven days? Or is it months? I can never keep track of time. No windows. I've made complaints to management. I'm still waiting for a word back.'_

Sam kept his head down, knowing he wasn't expected to answer. But hadn't he just been speaking? It seemed an important thing to remember, and he grasped at thoughts as wispy as fog.

 _Fog._ He had seen fog that morning. With Gabriel...and Castiel.

His eyes opened to reveal the cement floor. The pool of water collecting there was larger than he remembered, and that bothered him for some reason. It took a while to separate out the past from the present. Every time he felt himself getting a hold on reality, there was a voice in the back of his mind that whispered how Lucifer was free and searching for a vessel.

 _What if he's trying to reach me? Convince me to say 'yes' again?_ he thought wildly as his hands clenched, digging fingernails into numb palms. The lack of mobility and sensation in his extremities made the grounding gesture futile. Anxiety had no where else to go, and he was physically incapable of responding to it with his body bound and frozen.

Bright white light flooded the room suddenly, and Sam's eyes burned for the split second before he could shut them. He heard voices muttering incoherently to each other and the clattering of objects being dumped out on the metal exam table.

“Naptime's over!” Shepard said cheerfully as he unlocked the cage. Cramped shoulder and neck muscles made it impossible for Sam to turn his head, and there were still spots of light blinking behind his closed eyelids. He just hoped whatever these people planned included him being allowed to warm up or move out of this position. Preferably both.

“What's it doing, Shep?” Ms Watt asked, still over by the table.

Footsteps walked around to stop in front of where Sam's hands were locked in place. When the man spoke again, his voice was even closer, crouched down near Sam's head. “I do believe he's sorry for his earlier rudeness. How about it, little halo? Regretting your choices yet?”

Sam just kept his head against his knees, too exhausted to respond. Shepard chuckled and unlocked the manacles. Unbound, Sam still couldn't move his arms after holding the same position for so long.

“Up you go,” the man grabbed him by the armpits and pulled him upright. Sam tried to muffle a cry as agony shot through his body when he was made to sit back on his heels. Pale eyes appeared in front of his face and Sam could do nothing except hang limply in the man's grasp. “Not feeling so spiteful anymore, are ya?” Hands cupped Sam's face and wiped tears and snot away with a handkerchief in rough swipes. He noted that the man was wearing another pristine black suite and looked like he was on his way to a meeting business executive, “Now, here is what is going to happen. We are going to ask you questions and run some basic tests. You are going to answer everything to our satisfaction and behave. Do that, and we may give you that sheet back tonight. Disobey like you did earlier, and the past few hours will feel like a trip to the spa. Understand?”

Sam's teeth chattered hard enough to hurt. God, he hoped he wasn't still here for another night. He gave a nod when he couldn't work up enough moisture to peel his tongue from the roof of his mouth. There was nothing he'd like to do more than claw the man's eyes out, but Sam had to remain realistic about his situation. Dissent would have to be dispensed with care if he planned to survive.

“Good boy,” Shepard ruffled Sam's hair and fisted a handful of the messy locks, hard enough to control but not really hurt. Standing, the man circled behind Sam without releasing the curls. A large arm wrapped around his stomach and lifted him. The man's body heat soaked into Sam's icy skin and seared through to his muscles. It was simultaneously painful and a relief.

They moved toward the table where Ms Watt stood ready with her gun and a camera. Medical equipment was organized on a standing tray, and Sam's body tensed. Something registered on Ms Watt's face and she grinned at his reaction. “Smile, puppy!” she said and the camera gave off a series of light bursts.

“Oi! Quit that, it's bloody irritating.” The man laid Sam out on his back across the steel table. He was held in place by a large hand resting flat on top of his chest, fingers skirting along the collar at the base of his throat. It was less restraining than it was a precautionary move to keep him from rolling off. The man didn't even glance at Sam as he prepared what looked like an human thermometer.

Turning to Sam, he pushed the plastic tipped end into his ear for a few seconds until it beeped. “Fucking American piece of shite,” he mumbled as he read the number, “What's eighty-eight point two degrees Fahrenheit converted to Celsius?”

“Thirty-one point two,” Ms Watt drawled.

“We should let the monsters take the whole lot of them just for their bastardized measuring system,” Shepard said frowning as he typed into something Sam couldn't see above his head. No one seemed concerned that Sam's body temperature was ten degrees too low. The process was repeated with the rest of his vitals. The man tested his reflexes, felt the glands in his neck, and shined a light into Sam's eyes, ears, nose, and throat. He ended the exam by taking a few vials of blood Shepard spoke again as he placed labels on each tube, “Okay, let's strip him so we can get his weight and you can do your photo shoot for the old men.”

Sam fought to bring his hands up but barely managed to drag them onto his belly. His body was kitten-weak from being cold and bound for so long. Fighting tears, he tried to ignore the mortification of losing what little dignity his pajamas afforded him. He closed his eyes and focused on the warmth of the exam table lights. They formed patterns through the thin skin of his eyelids and he mentally traced them, trying to form symbols in the shifting swirls of illumination.

Brightness pulsed, whiting-out the distracting patterns. Sam flinched and he felt the man's hand lightly press high on his chest again. “Settle, now,” the hand went away and another several flashes followed, “You're a rare beastie, little halo. And the old men are collectors of rare things.”

“Nothing more rare than this kid. What word do they use to refer to their own young again?”

“ _Fledgling_. And if I never hear that word again, it'll be too soon. ArchJoke and the other one used it constantly, always making sickening googly eyes.”

“Aww, poor Shep,” more flashes as she teased her co-worker, “I'll tell ya, though, it's kinda cute. If it was human, I might be tempted to make googly eyes at it too.”

They talked about him like he wasn't in the room and capable of understanding speech. Sam let the words wash over him and drifted closer to being disconnected. Shepard laughed heartily and Sam's body was suddenly turned over without warning, “Whatever, Ms Watt. I've seen you around kids—you'd sooner eat a baby than make any kind of eyes at it.” He arranged Sam's arms against his sides and gave a warning squeeze to his wrist before removing his hands again. The camera clicked a few more times.

“Okay, that should be enough. We can take more later when he can stand if they're needed,” she said.

“Let's get his weight real quick, then we can start.” Shepard lifted Sam off the table and walked him over to a floor-scale in the far corner of the room. “Stay still,” he ordered as he sat Sam down.

It took several seconds before he was able to keep upright without swaying. There was an intense pain building between his should blades where the muscles kept spasming. The best he could do was get his arms loosely crossed over his lap and hunch forward before he fell over. He didn't see the number that appeared, and Shepard didn't comment about it.

The man haphazardly scooped him up with one arm and brought him back to the kennel. For a heartbeat, Sam feared they would cuff him to the floor again and he started to struggle against the hold. “Hey!” Shepard barked in his ear and a brutal pinch twisted into the muscle of his right thigh, making him gasp. “You _cannot_ be this stupid.”

Sam's body fell to the floor, sending jarring vibrations through his knees, and his arms instantly failed to support him. His face hit the cement and blood seeped warm from a busted lip. A dress shoe connected with his leg and sent him rolling into the bars. He curled into a protective ball as best he could with what felt like a broken leg and useless arms.

Shepard took a loud deep breath and let it out slowly. “Alright, Samuel Winchester, tell me how you came to have grace.” This was the voice of a professional interrogator who was confident in his own abilities. Silence fell in the room as Sam struggled to make sense of what was happening. Footsteps moved away then returned. “Sit up and open your eyes.” He paused. “One...Two...” He never said 'three.' Instead, something whistled through the air and fire streaked across Sam's back from the right shoulder to his left hip. He didn't scream because he couldn't breathe around the pain searing past skin and muscle and bones to something deeper.

Spasms rippled along his spine as his grace reacted to the lash. Sam opened his eyes in search of what could inflict pain on more than just his physical body. Shepard towered over him holding a long, thin wooden rod. He stared as the man knelt down and ran his fingers along the branch's glossy surface.

“Beautiful, isn't she—a holy relic. It's made from the same Olive tree the dove plucked a leaf off of to give Noah as a sign of life after the Flood. A holy relic from a holy relic,” he stood and paced around the cage, swinging the branch, “Did you know Olive oil is used to make holy oil? This piece in particular has been meticulously cared for with holy oil for over three thousand years. By the time it made its way into the Men of Letters' hands, it had many documented uses. One of them was its effectiveness in bringing stubborn angels to heel. I said _sit up!_ ”

Sam cut off a cry through clenched teeth as a second strike landed straight across both shoulders. His body convulsed with another furious storm of grace. Slowly, he rolled onto his knees and leaned against the bars. He used the leverage to push himself up. Static sparked along his nervous system in growing distress. Straightening his back, Sam stared up at the man.

“Better,” the man said in triumph, “Maybe you _can_ be trained. Let's try this again—tell me how you came to have grace?”

Sam's mind raced—how much _did_ the British Men of Letters know? They obviously knew about the grace and who all was living at the bunker. Did the woman who shot him realize Chuck's real identity?

A flurry of strikes left Sam scrambling against the bars to escape the feeling of fire. He bit through his already busted lip to keep from shrieking. The branch fell over the small of his back and a sob broke past his control.

“Five lashes for five seconds of disobedience. How long do you think you can hold out? Answer the question—how did you come to have grace?”

A second later, another lash landed on the side of his thigh. “Why?!” Sam finally yelled. The man paused and looked at Sam with smug fury.

Ms Watt sighed dramatically, “I'll get it ready.” She walked past them to a door hidden in shadow that led to another room. That did not bode well.

Shepard shook his head slowly, then turned around and walked toward the exam table. Sam's eyes darted from the man's broad back, to the place Ms Watt disappeared, to the doorway that led to the garage. He didn't think about it. He ran. Lucifer taught him that—always take the chance to run.

Or he tried to run. The burst of adrenaline got him several steps before pain and numbness made him stumble. His leg gave out where Shepard had kicked him and he tumbled in a tangle of limbs. His fingers curled against the cement in frustration as tears blinded him.

“And where exactly did you think you were going?” Shepard's voice was deadly calm as it drew closer to where Sam lay huddled. “You realize that's two now.”

 _Gabriel! Castiel! Please hear me!_ Sam prayed as hard as he could, screaming the words in his head as his hair was viciously twisted. He tried to reach up and grab hold of Shepard's hand to relieve the pressure when the man started dragging him back to the kennel. “ **Gabriel! Cas! Find me. Please find! Find find find!!** ” he shouted in Enochian, unable to keep his prayer silent.

“There it is. That blasted tongue. Ugliest damn language I've ever heard,” Shepard said conversationally, “You will learn my rules, little monster. You have no choice here.” The man crouched down to Sam's level. “My lovely stick? She's just for training—a guide to mind your P's and Q's and keep ya on track. But now?” He grinned like a predator with a full show of teeth, “You disobeyed by refusing to answer while simultaneously questioning me. Then you tried to escape. That's two separate acts of defiance that each deserve their own punishment.”

Shepard released his hair and picked up Sam's hands. Slipping the cuffs from the kidnapping out of his back pocket, the man secured both of Sam's wrists in front of him. With a tug, he brought the chain down to one of the floor's manacles and locked the metal band over the chain.

Sam stayed frozen in place, only moving his eyes to watch the man through his knotted curls. He took stock of his situation. Yes, he was naked and kneeling while his hands were again secured to the floor. But at least this time, he would have a much greater range of motion if they allowed him to stay this way through the night.

“Alright in here?” Ms Watt's voice emerged with her from the shadows. Sam turned to see her carrying a long garden hose that she gradually unwound from her arm as she moved into the room.

“You missed it,” Shepard announced cheerfully, “He tried to do a runner.”

“No!” she gasped, “Naked? Where the hell was it gonna go?

“Like a newborn colt trippin' on its own legs!” Shepard walked out of the cage, locked the barred door. He leaned against the bars, staring intensely at Sam. “You'd have probably taken a picture.”

“I always miss the good stuff,” she sulked, finally reaching him with several extra feet of hose to spare. Shaking out the coils, she handed him the end where a spray nozzle was attached. “Here—it's all ready to go.”

“Thank you, Ms Watt.” Shepard said without breaking eye-contact with Sam. “There's only one rule, Sam—unquestioning obedience. It means you obey without question. And if you break that rule, then I get to break you. So here is lesson number one.”

Sam barely had time to shut his eyes and duck his head when it hit him. It was like being thrown through the icy surface of a pond and plunging breathlessly into freezing waters. He tried to get away from the blast but he was limited to a radius of a few feet by the cuffs. The water seemed directed primarily at his face at first, forcing the high-pressured flow to pour into his nose and mouth and ears no matter how he twisted his head. Eventually, Shepard seemed to grow bored of trying to drown Sam and spent the rest of the time pummeling every inch of his skin with the frigid spray.

By the time it was over, Sam's whole body was bright red from the temperature and force of the water. He coughed fluid up from his lungs that he'd accidentally inhaled. It had swirls of blood from his lip which he watched slowly drain away through a small grate. Shivers wracked his frame as he watched Ms Watt finish the task of coiling the hose back up.

“See you at dawn,” Shepard called as he flipped the light on their way out, “Then I'll teach you what happens to mutts who try to run.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sheriff Jody Mills pulled her truck up to the abandoned-looking building. If Dean Winchester hadn't described it perfectly and provided its exact GPS coordinates, she would have thought she was in the wrong place. She got out and stretched slowly, joints cracking and popping from staying in the same position too long. The six hour drive from Sioux Falls to middle-of-nowhere Kansas could have been pleasant if not for the cloud of tension following her the whole way.

Dean had been suspiciously vague over the phone about their apparent predicament. The only details he'd shared was that magic was keeping them locked inside their bunker. The false bravado, over-the-top charm, and too-loud laugh combined with Sam's fishy inability to come to the phone had been far more informative than any words passing Dean's lips. It told her something was very wrong.

With a sigh, Jody walked around the building's exterior. Her gaze swept over the ground all the way to the tree line looking for signs of foul play. The sunlight was already low in the sky, and they would be limited to flashlights if they had to find anything out here in an hour or so. She made her way to the back and stopped when she rounded the corner. It was clear that someone had been out here recently. The firepit held a roaring fire beside a blanket and pillows. Other than that, the clearing was void of any significant clues.

Continuing her trek, she circled back to where she'd started and pulled out her phone. “Dean, I'm here. I just...”

Dean cut her off, “Is there anyone out there with you?”

“No, I didn't see anyone out here. I walked all the way around your ugly-ass house. Although...were you having an early morning bonfire? Because you got one going pretty strong back there. Someone's obviously been keeping it going if you've been locked in there. It's been seven hours, right?”

“Don't worry about the fire—Gabe brought some kind of special logs that never burn up. But, yeah, Sam and Cas and Gabe like to...meditate, and brush each others' hair and shit. Sammy and Gabe were still outside when Cas got banished and we were put on lock-down.”

“Who's Gabe?” she asked, peering closer at the front door. There didn't appear to be anything visible interfering with entering or exiting the building. And sadly there wasn't anything obvious like a giant sigil painted in blood to give her an idea of what had been used to seal it.

“He's...it's a long story, but he's like Cas.” Dean's voice sounded strained.

“What, you mean like an angel? Or just socially awkward?” Jody teased before the words clicked in her head, “Wait! 'Gabe?' As in Gabriel the _archangel_?” she stood up straight in surprise.

“Well, someone remembers their Sunday school lessons. But yeah, he's Gabriel. He's a pain in the ass Trickster, but he's been helping us. And I don't mean we teamed up with him out for some desperate world's end kind of mission. He's kind of a friend now. God, this is so weird to try and explain over the phone!” She heard him growl in frustration.

“Calm down there, sport,” Jody said using the same tone that worked on her girls when they got worked up. “We'll find them and you can tell me all the sordid details over beer and pizza.” She hesitantly reached a hand to the door and held her breath as her fingers connected with the handle.

A shimmer rippled across the surface and then dissolved with a soft 'pop,' _Huh,_ she thought as the door swung open easily with a gentle tug.

Dean stood on the other side, red-faced and pacing along the banister. He stopped when the door opened and spun around to stare at her with his mouth gaping wide in shock. “Jody?” he whispered.

“Hey Dean,” she smiled at the obviously stressed hunter, “I thought you said you were trapped? Did you try the doorknob?”

“Jody!” Dean threw his arms around her in relief and crushed her in a hug. “Am I glad to see you! And the outside...oh God, don't let the door shut!” He pushed her away and ran to keep the door open. “Can you grab that cinder block over there? That will hold it.  Did it just open?  Did anything happen?”

She raised her eyebrows at his frantic actions, but chalked it up to Sam being missing and helped the guy out.  "When I touched it there was this light that flashed across the door and it sounded like something broke or snapped.  I didn't feel anything though, and the door just opened."  Once the door was secured, she followed him into the bunker. “You live here? In an underground bunker? You Winchesters...” she shook her head fondly as she took in the expansive space and easily pictured the boys in it, “So, what's this 'long story' you keep mentioning? I can't help you find Sam if I don't know what's going on...” her voice trailed off when she saw a woman sitting at the long table below the stairs. Jody shot Dean an unspoken question.

The woman stood, long blonde curls falling over her shoulders as she moved. Her eyes were red and swollen with dark circles that spoke of sleeplessness. She smiled and Jody's stomach clenched at how familiar that expression looked. “Hello,” the woman said in a scratchy voice, “You must be Jody. Dean's told me so many good things about you.”

“Oh, has he?” Jody looked pointedly at the hunter this time, “Well, don't be rude Dean! Introduce me to your friend.”

“Yeah, that's, um...” he broke off, flustered if a completely different way than from Sam's disappearance. This was full of blushes and smiles and glances brimming with love toward the blonde. He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “Jody Mills, this is Mary...Winchester. My mom.”

Jody snapped her head around, eyes wide and warring between excitement and fear. “Your _mom_? But I thought she...wasn't she...”

“Dead?” Mary answered with a smirk that was all Dean. Jody realized that the earlier, softer smile had been familiar because _it_ was all Sam.

“Yeah, dead,” Jody said breathlessly before turning toward Dean but keeping Mary in her line of sight, “Dean? Why is your mother back from the dead? Is this a Winchester-thing? Because my experience with family members returning from the grave was a little more...horrifying.”

Dean's pleased fluster fell immediately and he stepped closer to Jody. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he turned serious, “I'm sorry, Jody. I shouldn't have...You're right, that was horrifying. But I ran the basic tests when I found her. She was brought back by God's sister almost two weeks ago, so it's legit.”

Jody searched his face for any deception, then turned her focus on Mary. There was only sincerity and exhaustion and anxiety. She gave the other Winchester a nod and Mary gave the softer smile again. “God's sister, huh? Let me guess—another long story?”

“The longest,” Dean huffed and led them to the kitchen. He put on a pot of coffee and they sat at the table waiting for it to finish. “I don't even know where to start. Part of me was hoping Sam was just hiding in the woods if he wasn't waiting by the door. But he would have hunkered down somewhere with a clear line of sight and come out when you got here.”

“Do you think he was taken by whoever did the banishing?” Jody asked.

Dean scoffed angrily, “If the spell didn't get him too.”

“I thought angel banishing didn't hurt humans. Was this different?” It was obvious she was missing some big pieces of this picture.

“Well, the banishing was on a level we've never seen. Powerful beyond belief if it was capable of reaching into the bunker. But I'm more worried because Sam is different.”

“Different how?”

“Long story short? Amara brought my mom back to life as a gift for me getting her and God back on speaking terms. God decided to help Sam out by healing his soul with His grace. But it changed Sam—made him part angel, or like a baby angel or something. I don't know all the details, but the process changed him physically and now adult-Sam's mind is in a six-year-old-Sammy's body lost out there somewhere.”

“Wow,” Jody stood and retrieved the full coffee pot, grabbing mugs from the stack on her way back to the table. She saw Mary doing the same with cream and sugar. “Wow! You boys, I swear to God I am going to lock you both in a padded cell with helmets. And maybe wrist, shin, elbow, and knee pads too. How do you two manage to get into so much trouble on such a regular basis?”

“Don't look at me,” Mary said as she fixed her mug, “I've been dead. But they've caught me up some of their adventures and I'd probably help you. I think a trail of beer bottles and pie would be all you need to get this one to willingly walk in.”

“Yeah, Sam's too calculated. He'd need more effort,” Jody smiled at her new ally.

Dean cut in. “But we have to find him before you can wrap us in bubble wrap. So any ideas?”

“Let me make some calls,” Jody said as she sipped her coffee and pulled out her cell phone, “I've made some good friends within the hunting community these past few years. Dependable, trustworthy people who are good at thinking outside of the box. You'll like them—they're siblings too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW!!! That was a big'un!  
> Tell me what y'all think...should I be running?  
> I should be running, shouldn't I...
> 
> *running*  
> *trips over 12 cats, 7 video game controllers, 5 guitars, and lands in a pile of clean but unfolded laundry*  
> *all of which are legitimately in my house*
> 
> I'll just wait here then. 
> 
>  
> 
> QUICK AUTHOR'S RANT ABOUT SLEEPLESS AUTHORS NOT SLEEPING BECAUSE THEY ARE RANTING ABOUT BEING A SLEEPLESS AUTHOR:  
> I really hope that this path I'm on where each new story's chapters keep growing in word count does not continue. Otherwise, I'll be writing 10-15,000 word chapters three stories down the line...that's not even a joke.  
> And I will sleep less than all the no sleep I am currently sleeping!!!  
> OMG, @INTPAquarius, you may be right. I may have no soul...
> 
> Sidenote: I am not a scientist. Some of the sciency things I researched as best I could...things like the closest galaxies to the Milky Way, and what forms a comet, and ancient sacred trees, and conversion charts. But when it came to physics, I made it all up. If you tell me that there's no way for an angel to fly blah blah blah by the blah because blah, I'm going to tell you angels don't really exist. Not because I don't believe in angels, but because I'm embracing my evil side.


	3. In the Presence of Mine Enemies

ARTWORK BY: The AMAZING @Echodoki  
This piece can be found [HERE](http://echodoki-blog.tumblr.com/post/154610916301/for-theriverscribe-because-i-love-you-and-i-love) on their Tumblr blog!!

* * *

 

Mary felt lost. And because she felt lost, she was doing the one thing she felt capable of handling—making the coffee. So while the others were utilizing the war table for its intended purpose, she hung back in the kitchen and stared at the black liquid slowly dripping into the well-used pot.

Technology today was so beyond her imagination. The boys had shown her a few things like how to use the Google and helped her set up an 'E-mail' account even though she had no one except them to communicate with. They insisted it was necessary for 'other accounts' so she acquiesced, but she honestly had no idea what 'other accounts' she would need.

So when Dean and Jody started discussing what systems to hack to find Sam, Mary wandered off with the excuse of making coffee. She sighed and rubbed her temples to ease the forming tension headache. Her mind kept racing with the checklist of things they would do in her day as a hunter. People to call, walking door-to-door to find witnesses, driving to libraries and local government offices to do research—today, all those steps were replaced by a single machine that could be used anywhere. And there was no time right now for anyone to teach her. Not with Sam and the angels having been missing for...what time _was_ it? She checked the microwave clock—they'd been missing for twelve hours.

“How are you doing?” Jody's voice broke through her thoughts and Mary startled The sheriff smiled kindly just like she probably did all the time for families with missing kids, “Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. Thought you heard me come in.”

“It's okay. I was just lost in thought,” Mary shrugged and tried to smile back.

“You don't have to pretend,” Jody said.

“Excuse me?” Mary said defensively. She felt anger flare in her belly and she didn't even know why.

Jody paused, studying her, then patted the back of a chair at the table. “It's okay to not be okay. It's okay to be angry or scared when our kids and loved ones are in danger.”

Slowly, Mary walked to the table and sat down. The sheriff went and poured two mugs before joining her. Taking the offered cup, Mary frowned, “I appreciate it.” She didn't know what else to say.

“Did Dean tell you how I got started with hunting?” Jody asked, taking a sip of her drink.

“Uh, no, he didn't,” Mary answered, now confused as to where this was going.

“My son died—Owen. Just a little guy. He got cancer when he was six, and fought it for a couple years before his body gave out. Then he came back.”

Mary's head flew up, “What?”

“About twenty people were brought back from the dead in our town several years ago. At first, it felt like a miracle. Then they all started turning into these aggressive, hungry creatures. My little boy...ate and killed my husband Sean. Your boys saved my life, and the life of almost everyone else in this town.”

“Oh God, that...that's awful! I'm so sorry, to lose your family...” Mary shook her head, amazed when Jody was still able to smile.

Jody acknowledged the sentiment with a nod of genuine gratitude, “I know you and I don't necessarily have similar situations, but I know what it's like to lose a child and husband. And it has been the hardest lesson to learn.”

Mary blinked rapidly and pushed her cup to the side. “What did you do?”

Jody thought about her answer, “I was alone for the first time in my life, and part of my lesson was learning who I was separate from other people. I grieved. I learned everything I could about the supernatural world. I worked a lot of overtime,” she leaned forward and covered Mary's clenched hands with her own, “And I've since learned how to love a new family. I adopted two wayward teenage girls, both of whom I have thanks to Sam and Dean. All of them gave me a purpose I didn't know I needed. One that I thought I'd lost with my son and husband.

“How...” Mary cleared her tight throat, “How did you do it?”

Jody squeezed her hand, “I realized that I needed those girls as much as they needed me. They aren't replacing Owen and Sean. I never got to change their diapers or read to them or rock them to sleep, but I love them for who they are now. I meet them where they're at, and they do the same for me. Baggage and all—and believe me, we all came with more baggage than I thought possible. We're still unpacking it.”

“It's been hard...these past couple weeks,” Mary admitted quietly, “Dean is so different from the little boy I remember. He's harder than most hunters I've known—even harder than John after Vietnam. But then I'll see him with Sammy or he'll rush to do something for me with this big goofy grin and he is just as soft and tender as he was the day I died.”

Jody leaned back, grinning. She took her hand away to pick up her drink, “Believe me, that's nothing new. Dean's been that way with Sam since I've known them. Well, there were a few times when they went through some rough patches...” she tilted her head and stared in the distance for a moment before shaking the memory away, “But I've never seen someone as protective as Dean is of Sam. I'm actually surprised he isn't tearing the bunker apart just for something to do.”

“He tried to bust us out with an ax for forty-five minutes before calling you.”

“There we go. That sound's more like him,” Jody laughed.

“I see that side of him and I _know_ he's Dean—my Dean who used to crawl into Sammy's crib or sit with me in the kitchen after I'd fought with John. He's always looked out for others. But Sammy is different,” Mary's voice broke with tears that hit her suddenly. She looked at Jody and saw only understanding and empathy—a fellow mother who knows loss. “I was still lactating when I died, and I keep expecting to feel milk and there's _none!_ ”

Jody stood and came around to sit next to Mary. She wrapped an arm around crying woman and sat quietly while she spoke, offering her presence for comfort and strength.

“And I _do_ love this Sammy—he's a beautiful boy who has been broken so many times that I just want to hold him constantly and never let go. Sometimes, I worry that I've replaced my baby with a new one, which then makes me wonder if I _can_ replace someone with the same exact person, so I don't know...” her breath hitched, “We were just learning how to be a family, I think. Me, the boys, and the angels—all of us were suddenly thrown together but it was good. I don't want to lose it. I don't want to lose _him_ again. I can't.”

“Then I guess we better find him, yeah?” Jody said with an encouraging determination. Mary nodded, grateful someone understood. “Come on, let's get some of this coffee to Dean. I can show you what I'm doing on the computer. It takes almost no effort or time to find the video databases, but we need an extra pair of eyes looking through the footage.”

“I can definitely do that,” Mary finally gave a real smile and felt something unclench in her chest—the grip of helplessness that had been growing tighter for hours. She went to prepare Dean a coffee with more optimism.

“Good,” Jody nodded, “The twins will be here soon. We lucked out on them being in our general vicinity. They are powerhouses of information and ability.”

“Oh yeah? How did you meet them?”

“In passing. They came through town and we're mutual friends with another hunter who told them about me. We had coffee and traded stories. Oh boy do they have some stories. Not all hunting related either.”

“Hunters always lead outlandish lives. Most have trouble fitting into the rest of society.”

“True, but these two are special. Their mom was a witch—the good kind, who didn't get her abilities from a demon deal. She trained them in magic and how to hunt the 'bad' witches. Max thinks he knows a locating spell that would help us find Sam. And they're making calls to all their contacts as they drive here for info and ideas. The word is going out that a Winchester is in trouble. Most I know in the hunting community would jump at the chance to help. Not all of them, but most. And the twins know which ones not to call. Hopefully, it's enough.”

“Thank you, Jody,” Mary said as she brought a tray with all their stuff on it over toward the sheriff, “You've done so much for us—driving here from South Dakota, and calling in people who can help, and listening to me. Just...thank you.”

“Anytime, Mary,” Jody smiled, “I know it can get a little male-heavy around here, so if you ever need another woman to talk to you just call me. Or better yet, make those boys bring you up to my neck of the woods and let me cook you dinner. You can meet my girls, and they've been dying to see the boys again. And make sure you bring Cas with you, okay? Claire's been asking about him.”

“Claire is one of your girls? And she's friends with Castiel?” Mary asked, wondering at the angel's connection.

“Cas is...well, he's kinda wearing her father's body. Jimmy Novak was Castiel's vessel. But Jimmy's dead and Claire's mother died a couple years ago. It's a long story.”

Mary stared at the sheriff, “You know, I hear that phrase a lot these days.”

 

* * *

 

Dean stabbed at the computer keys as though intimidation would magically make it reveal Sam's hidden location. He glanced over to where the others were working. Jody and Mary were side-by-side on separate computers, combing through footage of traffic cameras. Whatever happened in the kitchen had changed something between the two women—but Dean wasn't about to ask. He was just glad to see two people important to him getting along.

Jody's hunter friends were scheduled to arrive within the hour and Dean was hoping to have _something_ to go by when they got here. Any hint of Sam and the angels' whereabouts would feel like a victory at this point. In twelve hours, they had only succeeded at opening the front door. Not quite celebratory when his brother wasn't waiting on the other side.

Dean needed to talk to Sam—needed Sam to be okay and come back because there was too much still unsaid between them. His conversation with Castiel that morning kept echoing in his brain while he glared at the unhelpful computer screen. That _thing_ Castiel did still made his skin feel like it was crawling and he fought the newly-constant urge to shower. _This is how Sam has felt for two years. Longer, if he was like this after the cage._

And that shook him to the core. Sam Winchester was Dean's number-one subject in life. He knew how the kid operated and how his mind worked. They had whole systems of communicating that depended on Dean knowing these things. He knows all those things only understood by big brothers _and_ mothers. And if nothing else, Dean usually knew what the kid needed, even if he didn't understand _why._

For Sam to function so well while experiencing that level of terror means Dean missed something enormous. When had he stopped being able to read Sam? He'd felt more in tune to his brother since the kid was pocket-sized again, and he thought it was because they had grown so much closer after the year battling the Darkness. What if Sam just wasn't able to hide things anymore? Why had it taken Castiel spelling things out for him and using his angel-mojo before Dean could understand? And _where_ was Sam when Dean was mid-way through the biggest revelation of his life?

“Careful there, mister. That computer never did anything to you,” Jody's voice drew his gaze and he saw both women staring at him in concern.

“Sorry,” he said gruffly and frowned back at his screen, “I'm not finding squat and I really want to shoot someone.”

“Yes, but if you damage Sam's laptop, he's going to really want to shoot _you_ when he gets back,” Jody reminded him.

Dean cringed, “Point taken. Any luck on your end?”

“Nothing,” Mary answered, “There aren't any cameras stationed near our area of the road. The closest is just outside town and there's no guarantee they went that way. Or that they even traveled by car.”

“Let's go over your list of suspects again,” Jody said, “Sometimes it helps to talk through them a few times to find something you've missed.”

“We've got a lot of enemies floating around out there,” Dean started, stretching back in his chair, “Lucifer is probably the biggest, but I don't think he can do an angel-banishment without knocking himself out of the picture. Crowley's been on good-ish terms with us lately. I mean, he joined Team Chuck for last month's apocalypse. Plus, he loves the chance to brag. We would have definitely heard from him by now. Rowena is too much about self-preservation to chance coming after us. And I don't think the Book of the Damned included a banishment like this—or she didn't mention it when we were coming up with ways to defeat Amara.”

“There's also the Englishwoman who shot Sam,” Mary added.

“Right, what do we know about her?” Jody asked as she made notes.

“We know the British Men of Letters are a bunch of pricks who think Sam and I should be tried for sins against humanity, or some other bullshit.” Dean growled, remembering the pool of Sam's blood on the floor just a few feet away. “She didn't get a chance to tell him anything else after Chuck showed up. We've looked through a bunch of the bunker's old records but all we could find was some old letter from the 1930s that was mostly blacked out. Nothing helpful except it confirmed that there _was_ a British Men of Letters chapter.”

“Have you ever heard of supernatural activities in Britain?” Jody looked up from her notes to frown at Dean, “Because I haven't. I've been following stories of hunters around the globe, but none of them come out of Great Britain.”

“No, I don't think so. But Sam would be the one to ask—he likes to keep up with stuff like that, which doesn't help us now.” Dean took a gulp of cold coffee, wincing at the taste.

“Well, we know that they are knowledgeable enough to banish an angel and get into your bunker. They must have had a plan if they were ordered to bring you in. A well-funded plan if they can travel internationally.” Jody stood up and started pacing, “I mean, look at this place! It was abandoned decades ago, but the Brits didn't have Abaddon to wipe them out or a dozen apocalypses to hurt their numbers. A generational secret society with all _this_ at their fingertips must have massive wealth and power at their fingertips.”

“You think they might show up on the books somewhere?” Dean felt a thrill of excitement.

“I think we should check private and public international flights to Britain and see if anyone's taking a child passenger. And we may want to see if anyone's recently rented or sold local property to people with British accents. If it is these people, and if they did stay somewhat close by, and _if_ they warded their location, it may be possible for the twins to find them. They know how to search for wards instead of an object or person.” Jody pulled out her phone, presumably texting the twins about the idea.

“Unconventional,” Mary commented.

Dean just grinned, “I like it.”

 

* * *

 

Sam knew he was dying. His body had stopped shivering a while ago, and his skin felt inhumanly cold to his own touch. Exhaustion made him want to fall asleep until he either miraculously woke up in his own bed, or faded into the great nothingness Billie had promised him. If she was kind, she wouldn't take the time to tell him before delivering him to the beyond.

But his grace wouldn't allow him to fall asleep as the night dragged on. It rolled through his body, an angry tempest that scraped his insides raw. He saw small sparks light up along his arms once in a while and felt the jolt whenever one hit the shallow pool of water he laid in. His spine felt like it was breaking from the constant spasms that twisted with each breath.

Sam wondered what would happen if his grace continued to build unchecked. Would he explode? Or burn up from within? Whatever it was, Sam just wished it would happen soon. The collar felt hot against his freezing skin and he'd tried to unlatch it until his fingers bled. Not that he really knew how to use his grace for defense or fighting, but he'd do anything to relieve the storm of destruction.

The Olive branch was a tool unlike anything Sam had ever experienced. Of course, he hadn't been tortured in the two weeks he'd had grace and a tiny body. _Two weeks—must be a new record,_ Sam though as he groaned and shifted on the ground. The lash marks had mostly faded from the skin Sam could see. Underneath, however, he could feel each place like a brand. The pain came from his grace instead of his skin and muscles. It was like a mild, but ongoing, soul-grabbing. The kind of experience that usually required being held down and biting on belts.

The muscles around his shoulder blades twisted violently and he arched off the floor, muffling a scream through clenched teeth. It felt like his spine was trying to snap through his skin. The pain was confusing—was it part of his grace's reaction or from having his arms tied in terrible positions for so long? He had never felt like this in his countless times being restrained.

_I can do this_ , he told himself even while another internal voice told him he was lying. _I've survived three decades of Heaven and Hell's manipulations, centuries of torture at the angry hands of two archangels, and being raised by John and Dean Winchester. I can do this..._

Curling into a ball on his side, Sam tried to breathe and not break before dawn.

 

* * *

 

Alicia and Max Banes were unlike anything Dean expected.

He had worked with other hunters on occasion. Most were gruff men, older than their ages who led relatively short and solitary lives. Hunters who worked in pairs or groups usually lived longer—the burden of survival was easier when shared. But none of them were like these witch-twins.

They were sassy and smooth, completely in sync with each others' words and movements. It reminded him of how he and Sam were together in the days before Stanford. All easy-going humor and silent speech. Both wore simple black outfits that allowed their skin to glow—the sister golden bronze to her brother's darker russet. A black utility bag hung from their outside shoulder.

They walked down the stairwell side-by-side with identical expressions of astonishment.

“You live here?” they asked at the same time.

Dean cleared his throat, slightly uncomfortable with their electric elegance. “Yup!” he answered in a decidedly inelegant way, “Welcome to the Men of Letters, American edition. I'm Dean Winchester. This is my mom, Mary. I can't thank you enough for helping us.” He stepped forward to shake their hands.

The young woman descended the last few steps, her long chestnut curls swinging as she met him with a brilliant smile and firm grip. “Alicia Banes. I hope you'll give us a chance to explore this place sometime. I've never felt so much magic in one place.”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Dean said, nodding. He'd probably give them the bunker if it meant getting Sammy home safely.

“Careful there, pretty boy,” Max said as he joined them. His green eyes shone bold and warm. “She'll be moved in by the weekend.” A shudder rolled though the young man's body in a way that was almost indecent, “Of course, I might just move in too. She's right—this place is _vibrating_.” He shook Dean's hand as firmly as his sister, “I'm Max.”

“Awesome,” Dean said feeling tongue-tied around the two. He cleared his throat...again. “So what all do you need? We've got a fully-stocked storeroom of supplies for rituals and spells, and all the research books available on the North American continent.”

“Actually, we only need something of Sam's—a hairbrush would be perfect if he has one.” Alicia said as she swung her bag onto the war table and started unpacking herbs and tools.

“Oh, that shouldn't be a problem,” Dean said over his shoulder, already moving to retrieve the item. It was easy to find. Studying it on the way back to the war room, he found several hairs of varying lengths. Frowning as he rejoined the others, he asked, “Um, does it matter if...” he cut off, unsure how to phrase the question.

“Does it matter if what, sugar?” Max asked.

“Sammy, he was changed a couple weeks ago. A...thing...happened, and God changed him with grace, and Sam's kind of an angel-kid now. Will it matter if the hair is from before the change? Because there are a lot of hairs in this brush and I don't want to fuck this up by choosing the wrong one.”

“Woooow,” the twins said in unison.

“Sam is an angel?” Alicia asked.

“ _God_ made Sam an angel?” Max added.

“A _thing_ happened?” they ended together with mirror expressions of ridiculousness.

Dean stared unblinking, “How are you doing that?”

Jody slapped him on the shoulder, jarring him from his shock. “Ha! Like you and Sam don't do the same damn thing.”

“We do not!” he sputtered, “Whatever, yes, yes, and _yes_. Sam's soul was damaged and God used His grace to fix it and it made Sam a tiny kid with a lot of power. Like, a _lot_. 'Littlest Archangel' amounts of power and I swear to that God if any of you tells Sammy I called him that I will lock you in our dungeon.”

“In your what?” four voices said at once and Dean took a step back at the sudden surround-sound. Everyone was staring at him with looks ranging from shocked to scandalized to intrigued.

“Well, _that_ wasn't in the 'Welcome to the Bunker' tour,” Mary said wryly.

Max strode forward and eased the hairbrush from Dean's white-knuckle grip. “I want you to explain what you know about grace to Alicia so we can make adjustments. Me and Mamma Mary are gonna sort through these hairs. We won't need much to make this work.”

Dean glanced at his mother who looked pale but steady. She met his gaze with a smile and gave a reassuring nod. He returned it and felt some of the day's tension trickle away. It felt good to do something.

 

* * *

 

Max Bane had heard many stories about the fabled Winchester brothers. They were legends among hunters everywhere—the Righteous Man who became a Knight of Hell, and Lucifer's blood-addicted vessel who conquered the devil to save the world. They were forces of destruction and salvation and myth. As the son of a witch and hunter, and the brother of a twin sister with whom he was of one thought and spirit, he knew what it was like for people to tell stories based on a single, detail-free fact. People were idiots.

He had felt the magical energies of the bunker over a mile before they physically saw it. Ancient spells were laid out through the building and grounds, overlapped by newer and more powerful wards. Angelic grace saturated the air, the scent of ozone after a thunderstorm blending with leather and old paper. It was like walking over subway grates, never knowing when a gust of hot air would take you by surprise. Or maybe a gauntlet of perfume-wielding kiosk workers.

The twins' empathic abilities immediately picked up on the overwhelming tension and emotional stress of both Dean and Mary. Being raised by a woke witch-woman combined with growing up in the pocket of a psychic twin meant Max was well versed in healthy boundaries and communication. Being a hunter meant he could put those skills to constant use within a community famous for their emotional illiteracy. And sometimes he got to use them to soothe a lost mamma's longing for her missing child.

He sent Jody a mental 'thank-you' for updating them on the situation here before they arrived. Context was important—knowing that Mary was the newly-resurrected Winchester mother was vital. Sidling up beside the sad woman, he said, “Hey there, beautiful. I bet that the kitchen here has better lighting than this cavern. What do you say we go there to sort through these and I can make you my mamma's favorite kind of coffee.” She looked drained and discouraged, but she nodded with a smile anyway.

“Max,” Alicia's voice rose in warning. ' _I know you're up to something._ '

“Sister, don't test me. I know you're a granny's girl. Black and bourbon,” he called back. ' _I hear you. Now, trust me._ '

“Make it strong. The coffee, not the bourbon!” her voice followed them into the hallway. ' _Go for it. Don't get drunk.'_ Born three minutes before him and she acts with all the authority of an oldest sibling. Typical.

Mary led the way down a dark hallway to their spacious kitchen area. “Nice system,” he said, impressed, as he gestured toward the flawlessly installed speakers.

“Thanks,” she said with a laugh, “I don't think any of us know how to use them. Gabriel put them there when he first arrived and usually just snaps his fingers to control the music.”

“Sounds like having an archangel around keeps life interesting.” He saw her head toward the coffee area, so he redirected her to the table. Seeing the multi-colored surface, he snagged a roll of paper towels and laid them out in front of her. “Now, I want you to sort through what you can. Focus on what you know Sam's hair looks and feels like and put everything else to the side. We really only need one strand.”

Mary's hand shook as she took the brush from him. “I...I don't know if I can do this,” she said in a small voice.

Max crouched down next to her with a hand on her shoulder, “And what makes you think that?”

“Dean knew Sam was physically six _and a half_ based on his hair alone. I've only known Sammy for a couple weeks. What if I get it wrong?”

He smiled and went around to sit opposite of her. “Close your eyes, mamma.”

She gave him a look somewhere between doubtful and suspicious, but did as he asked. “Okay, now what?”

Reaching across the table, he pressed her hands flat on the surface, palms down, and covered them with his own. “I want you to picture Sam as you've known him here. Can you describe him to me?” his voice was smooth and slow.

Mary took a deep breath and nodded, keeping her eyes shut, “First time I saw him, I didn't know who he was. Dean had just found me wandering in a graveyard and brought me here to the bunker. There was a pool of blood on the floor and the sound of metal clattering down the hall. He was standing there—this little boy, barely past the toddler-stage, standing barefoot with an adult's t-shirt hanging off his shoulder. Giant hazel eyes full of fear. I was so worried I'd made a mistake trusting Dean. I mean, who keeps a baby like that half-naked in a bunker? Didn't take long to figure out what had happened.”

Max slid his hands off of hers and picked up the brush, carefully extracting the mess of strands from the bristles. He laid them out on the white paper. “What does his hair look like?”

“A mess of curls bouncing everywhere when he moves. They tighten into ringlets after it's been washed, and when it dries the hair is soft as silk,” she sighed wistfully, “Sunlight makes the dark brown look more auburn. It hangs an inch or two past his ears, depending on how you measure. The curls hide a lot of length.”

“Open your eyes,” Max said and watched her blink in the cheerful kitchen light. “Now, you take a look at those hairs, and if you don't recognize it put it aside. Made a few piles if you get some 'maybes.' I'm gonna go over here and make myself at home. I think you'll like my mamma's coffee.”

Mary stared at the piles of hair. Hesitantly, her fingers traced over some of them. “Oh,” she said, a hint of surprise and joy in the sound. Soon, she was sorting through at a steady pace. Max was proud to see there were only two piles.

He pulled a bag of coffee grounds from his bag—his own personal stash of Hawaiian ambrosia. Setting it to brew, he pulled out the other two secret ingredients. Bulleit Bourbon for Alicia. If he was reading the man right (and he was an excellent reader of men) then Dean would probably side with her on their adult coffee preference. But Max suspected that he and Mary were more like his own mother. They liked things a little sweeter. Emergencies and celebrations both called for Bailey's Irish Cream. Besides, Alicia was right, gods and goddesses damn her—they can't afford to get drunk while gearing up a rescue.

Pouring their drinks, he waved a hand over them to stir them with a small push of his magic. The speakers suddenly sprang to life with the intro riffs of Donovan's _Season of the Witch_. The song rocked through the bunker at party-volume.

“Well, that's a little rude, but clever,” Max said with a roll of his eyes.

“What is that? Did you find a remote?” Mary asked, her hand clutching at her chest in surprise.

Before he could answer, Dean barreled into the kitchen, gun at the ready. “Is it Gabriel?” he asked breathlessly, gaze sweeping over the room for any new occupants.

“Whoa!  Easy there, man. It was me,” Max said with his hands up, “I used a bit of juice to stir the drinks and must have set off a magic detector.”

Dean stilled, listening to the song, and it clicked. “Damn it, Gabe! I told him we didn't need musically coded alarms!” Exhaling noisily, he plopped down next to his mother. “How's it going?” he asked, leaning over to see her progress, “Oh man, that looks like a mess. How are you doing that? I couldn't see the differences when they were clumped together, but you totally got it. How does such a little kid have shed that much hair in such a short time?”

“You shed a lot too,” Mary mused as she continued sorting. She already had a good-sized pile of curly strands separated from the unfamiliar longer straight pieces.

“I did?” Dean asked, hand going to his hair as though worried it might fall out any second.

“I was always amazed by how much you'd leave behind after baths,” she smiled in a way that told Max that the blush on Dean's cheeks was the effect she was going for. “How are things on your end? Does Alicia have what she needs?”

Max brought their drinks over. Dean nodded a thanks and took his before answering, “Yes, which is good because we are all out of angel-retrievers to send for rare items,” he paused his exasperated rant to take a drink and his eyes grew enormous, “Holy crap! You are awesome!”

“That's what they all say,” Max replied, playfully flippant. Grabbing up his sister's cup lest she murder him and handing Jody's to Dean, he gestured toward the door, “Come on, folks. Let's go make some magic.”

They formed two plans. The first was a location spell for Sam himself using his hair. If that failed, they had a revealing spell to find areas with high-concentrations of magics. If neither worked then the witch-hunters would be set loose on the library's magic section.

The twins moved like dancers, arranging ingredients and drawing symbols across a white cloth spread out on the floor. Alicia placed a large map of Kansas and the surrounding states in the center. The simple ritual began at midnight—a call-and-response chant that ended in unison, a lit match thrown into a bowl containing several things including Sam's hair, and a careful toss that spread the flaming mixture across the map. They all stood in silence, holding their breath and watching the as the fire instantly extinguished on contact with any surface except one—a single spark burned a perfect tiny hole on the map.

“I think we found your lost boy,” Max said with a grin.

“Jody!” Dean bellowed.

“I'm right here, Dean. I see it. Just outside Winfield.” Jody was already bringing information on her phone as they raced to get started.

Max worked some with Jody and Alicia on figuring out the exact location burned into the map but left them to hacking whatever systems it took to get an address. Instead, he studied what was used to seal the bunker. There was residue of a complex sigil that glowed when he ran energy over it. It appeared to be designed to break when touched. Perhaps whoever left it believed the Winchesters didn't have allies close enough to free them in time to prevent anything. It was a chilling thought.

He gently nudged Dean to have Mary help him collect supplies and weapons for everyone. It was the right suggestion to make—the woman turned out more knowledgeable than her son realized. She came back dressed as a hunter and strapped with enough blades and guns to be an assassin. Dean kept shooting her nervous looks. Good. It was healthy for a man to be nervous of a strong, furious, armed woman.

Research found a third party person had bought the property situated out in the middle of several large farms. It was an old closed-down animal hospital. A good amount of land and privacy for days was perfect for an invading secret society. Alicia did a remote viewing session and confirmed that the area was bursting with magic.

By three-thirty in the morning, everything was ready. They loaded up in two cars—the Winchesters in the sexiest black Impala Max had ever seen, and the twins with Jody in their Jeep. Their GPS put their arrival in just under three hours. Watching the Impala peel onto the road and quickly rocket to full speeds, Max decided to shave a few minutes off the computer's estimation.

 

* * *

 

“Rise and shine!” Shepard sang as he flipped the switch and suddenly filled the room with harsh florescent lights.

“Oi! Shep, it ain't doin' too good.” Ms Watt's said, moving up to the bars for a closer look.

Sam stared up at her through half-lidded eyes. Nothing he'd done through the night would relieve the pain in his back and bones. Thoughts of rescue had dwindled to the occasional daydream, but the escape was a fantasy to distract from a reality consisting once again of bars, pain, and ice.

“Nah, I've seen what a halo's capable of surviving. I bet you his temp is twenty-six degrees right now, and he's still conscious. We'll let him warm back up a bit first, and he'll be right as rain.” Shepard grabbed a large blanket and shook it out over the exam table.

“Yeah, but his eyes are glowing all bright and weird,” she insisted.

“Oh? What color?” he called, opening the laptop.

“I dunno. White with, like, sparks of violet. It reminds me of those plasma globes in science class.” The sound of Shepard typing followed her description for a minute.

Joining Ms Watt at the cage, he unlocked the door. “I've never seen one do that so quickly,” he crouched down and turned Sam's face up to get a better look. Sam didn't have the energy to pull away.

“Do what? Glow?”

“Yeah. Only saw it happen once, and it was on a halo we'd had collared for a year. He got beat bloody all the time, and it took thirteen months for his grace to react.”

“What, so it's a freak even for an angel?” Ms Watt looked amused, and Sam tried not to flinch at the word _freak_.

“Seems like it, yeah.” The man's body shuddered when he gathered Sam into his arms, “Jesus, it's like touching a bloody zombie.”

“Creepy,” Ms Watt said from behind them.

Sam felt himself be set down on top of the blanket and shut his eyes against the harsh lights in his face. His back spasmed against the table, arching to get his own weight off the areas in agony. A whine worked its way through his throat as Shepard and Ms Watt both grabbed hold to keep him from bucking off the table.

“Whoa there! What's got you doing that now? Surely you aren't hurting this bad after a few licks of a little stick,” Shepard's voice was oddly soothing as hands turned Sam on his side so the man could see his back. “Some bruising from where he hit the bars, but nothing from the branch. Get some pictures and I'll take his vitals. Then we'll get him warmed up and take another look.”

They rolled him onto his stomach and he felt the camera flash behind closed eyelids. “What's its back doing?” Ms Watt asked sounding horrified and Sam's gut clenched in new fear. He couldn't see his back, but he know something was wrong.

“Where?”

“Right here,” she didn't touch him so Sam didn't know where she pointed, but he could guess, “It looks like something's moving under his skin. Is that the muscle?”

A large hand pressed between Sam's shoulder blades and he screamed as he tried to burrow down through the table. It felt like broken glass was slowly shattering under the increased pressure. “No, it's not his muscles—they don't move like that. I'm not sure what this is, but it feels like...liquid. And it's twisting _between_ his skin and spine, not just along side it.” The hand moved away and it took a few minutes before Sam could breathe without gagging.

They took his vitals while he struggled to regain his equilibrium. Then, soft fabric moved up his legs and Sam sobbed with relief at the return of his pajama pants. An adult-sized shirt was pulled over his head and they moved his arms and torso to quickly get it situated. Another blanket, heavy and heated, was laid across his body.

“Ugh, I'm gonna have to wash my hands after this,” Ms Watt mumbled loud enough for Sam to hear before addressing Shepard, “I thought Sam Winchester survived some ungodly amount of time under Lucifer and Michael in Hell. Shouldn't he be...well, tougher?”

“Don't know about tougher. Human Sam seemed pretty broken from what I read. Spent time in a mental ward for extreme hallucinations and insomnia. And our reports say he went _back_ to the cage this year to get Lucifer's help. Like the girl that keeps going back for more, right?” he chuckled at his own joke and Sam started dry heaving.

_That's not what happened. I'm not..._ his thoughts spiraled with all the things he wanted to not be. _Not the victim who returned. Not broken. Not a freak._ The feeling of pins and needles formed along his skin from the heated blanket and his body immediately began to shiver. Emotions teetered on the edge of overwhelming Sam's senses. Since the change, it seemed like his emotional control had been stripped. Everything he felt was right on the surface, refusing to be buried or pushed aside.

Sam didn't know if the collar had muted that or if the pain and shock had allowed him to disconnect at first, but the reprieve of emotional disassociation appeared to be over. As his body thawed, so did his mind. Images playing past his closed eyes—waking up in the ice bath during the trials, Lucifer solidifying the blood in his veins with a touch, a time when he and Dean were huddled in the woods as kids on a winter hunt. Each one brought a different kind of terror and it left him drifting between the past and present.

Shepard continued to check Sam's temperature and once it was deemed high enough again, they removed the heated blanket and sat him up. “Okay, boy-o, let's talk,” Shepard said as he moved to stand directly in front of where Sam sat with his legs hanging over the table's side. “Have you learned last nights lesson, then?”

Sam stared into the pale blue eyes and nodded.

“And what was the lesson you learned?” Shepard asked like a long-suffering mentor reviewing a lecture with his pupil.

Sam opened his mouth, but no sound came out right away. He tried to slow his breathing and work up enough spit to make his throat cooperate. Eventually, he croaked out, “To...listen.”

“Not just listen,” Shepard pushed with a frown.

Sam swallowed some more and dropped his eyes to his knees. He hated himself for even pretending to submit for the sake of survival. “Obey,” he whispered, throat too raw for speech, “No questions.”

“Good boy,” the man praised and ruffled Sam's hair. “And what is the lesson you are going to learn this morning?”

His eyes went back up to the man, wide with surprise. They had just spent over an hour to bring his body temperature back up and given him clothes, only to turn around and punish him again? Why? Mind turning with questions, Sam stared in disbelief.

“I told you, Sam. You are here to learn and be useful. If you die in the process, that would be regrettable, but no one would mourn your passing.” Shepard took Sam's jaw in his hand and brought his face closer. “Do you think we left the rest of them alive at the bunker? Leave the man who bore the Mark of Cain and the thing wearing your dead mother's body? And you will never again see the archangel or your brother's blue-eyed pet. This is your life now. When we've deemed you safe to transport, you'll be returning with us to Britain for further training and tests. If you wanted different treatment, you should have gone willingly with Toni while you were still human. But you will start to learn consequences here and now. So, one more chance to answer before I go get my Olive branch.”

Despair darkened Sam's mind as the world narrowed. Each passing hour had made rescue seem less likely, but he'd held out on the hope of seeing his family again eventually. Was Shepard lying? Or had there been other agents waiting to rush the bunker once it was cleared of angels? Could a banishment be powerful enough to kill?

A pinch to his thigh brought him back to Shepard's disapproving face and he barely managed to remember the question. “No...no running.” He had no where to run if the others were dead.

“Good boy,” Shepard smiled and released his jaw. “Remember the rules and you won't have to be punished again.” He picked Sam up off the table and took him back to the kennel. Sam found himself clutching the man's shirt to stave off being put down, but Shepard just chuckled and peeled him away.

Removing the handcuffs, Shepard returned Sam to his place in the manacles on the floor. Heart pounding as he found himself face up this time, he tried to take comfort in the fact that they were allowing him to keep the clothes. His back seized and he lost his breath. He saw Ms Watt join them inside the cage and give Shepard some kind of small canister before returning to the doorway to take up her post as 'look out against the kid chained to the floor.'

“Ah, thank you Ms Watt. Quite helpful, as always.”

“Welcome, Shep,” she answered in her usual bored tone.

Shepard retrieved a small stool from outside the cage and sat on it by Sam's feet. He held up the canister so Sam could see it. “Do you know what this is?” he asked as he unscrewed the bulbous top to reveal a burnt wick. Sam shook his head and the man lit it. The flames burned blue and orange. “It's holy oil. Have you ever seen an angel burned by holy oil? I'm told it's the worst pain imaginable for your species.”

Sam shook his head again, frantically this time, and stared at the ceiling. His breathing was too fast so he forced himself to inhale slowly through his nose. The man grabbed Sam's right ankle in a rock-solid hold and used it to maneuver him—leg raised, knee bent, and the sole of his foot parallel with the floor.

“What's the lesson this morning, little halo?” Shepard asked again.

Clenching his hands in their restraints, Sam felt tears leak from the corners of his eyes. “N-no r-r-running,” he stammered and tried to brace himself.

Nothing prepared him for the sudden scalding burn that began on the ball of his foot and worked its way down to his heel. It radiated all the way up to his finger tips, a searing heat that made his blood feel like lava flowing through his veins. Something snapped against his spine and his back bowed off the ground.

He didn't see the flash of pure light explode through the room, causing glass to shatter and machines to rain sparks. He didn't hear the shouts of Shepard and Ms Watt as bolts of electricity threw them unconscious to the ground in motionless heaps. He didn't feel the building shake as though caught in an earthquake. All he knew was agony. The tempest was free and he howled, raging with it.

Save

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY CRAP this chapter wanted to be SO long I had to split it. It was well over 13,000 words before I was like, "Enough is enough!" The upside means that the next part is almost completely done!! Which means this story (story, not series) may be done in time for Christmas! WootWoot!! 
> 
> I want to thank everyone who has commented and messaged me. You are all the reason for the season to me <3  
> So don't forget--more comments equal more story!!  
> (not really, but I figured it's worth a shot...)


	4. And Mercy Shall Follow

A cry rang out from the Earth, riding a wave of grace that crashed violently against the edges of the universe.

Angels stationed planet-side were deafened by the nearly-forgotten sound of a fledgling's voice. One by one, they flew off back to heaven in a rush to report the impossible.

Heaven shook with the revelation. Halls fell silent with shock before bursting into a flurry of movement.

Castiel and Gabriel felt it as they plunged through the oncoming cloud of well-known energy. It sizzled along their wings like little electrified phantom fingers. They honed in on the voice and pushed harder.

And two other brothers, long separated from each others' sides, heard the lost child as they returned from spending time with their Father. Sharing a knowing look, both disappeared with a whisper of wings.

 

* * *

 

Jody drove the twins' Jeep like the professional she was trained to be—which was lucky for them because Dean was a maniac in the Impala and drove it like he stole it. Alicia sat in the front passenger's seat sharpening a blessed dagger. Max sat behind them in silent meditation.

They had been on the road for two hours, and every second had been tense with nerves and anticipation. Mary would occasionally call from the Impala with a question or suggestion about the rescue plan. Jody liked the female Winchester—it was hard not to like a woman so obviously full of love and devotion despite her recent experiences.

They kept the car radio off, so it was silent when _it_ happened. Jody saw Alicia drop the knife and sharpening stone at the same time that Max gasped loudly. “What? What is it?” she asked the twins when no one spoke right away.

“I don't know,” Max groaned. Jody saw him clutch his head in the rear-view mirror.

“There's been a massive discharge of energy nearby,” Alicia answered, her hands shaking as held one over her mouth. Sweat beaded on her brow.

“He's screaming...” Max added, still trying to catch his breath.

“ _He_ who?” Jody demanded. “Sam?”

“I don't know,” the twins answered together.

“Shit,” Jody muttered and grabbed her phone from it's dashboard holder, “Mary, something's happening.”

 

* * *

 

It was raining ice and fire.

Sam opened his eyes only to have water pour into them. He shut them quickly and tried to angle his head in a way that the water avoided blinding him. It took some adjusting, but he was finally able to see a little.

It looked like a bomb had gone off right where Sam was laying. Burn marks branched out across the floor, bars, ceiling, and walls, all leading to him. The sprinklers were pouring down water over smoking, ruined machines. Alarms sounded from another room. He saw Ms Watt lying in a heap under fallen equipment, moaning but not moving.

Sam swung his head around in search of the man. He found him a few feet away to his right against the cage bars. There were blisters covering Shepard's face and hands. His suit-clad leg was clearly broken and lay at an unnatural angle. Sam couldn't tell if he was breathing or not.

It wasn't until that moment that he realized the biggest new development— _he could feel his grace_. It was no longer raging under his skin, but settled against his bones as though exhausted from work with Gabriel. It barely reacted to his mental prodding, but the connection was there again no matter how dim. Sam gasped and almost choked on the spray from the sprinklers. Hope sprouted through the pain as he tested his bonds. The manacles held strong and his grace refused to even move down his arm.

“Cas, Gabe, I hope you can hear me,” he mouthed the prayer below a whisper, “I'm in an old animal hospital a few hours by car from the bunker. I don't...” his throat constricted, “I think I knocked out the Brits who have me, but I'm chained up and I can't...I don't...Please check on Dean and Mom. I don't know if they...” He stopped and slowed his breathing, not wanting to lose the will to escape in the middle of his only opportunity.

A deep, resonating hum pushed its way past the chaos. It settled in Sam's ear and he turned his head toward the garage hall entrance in time to see a man enter the room. He was lean and aging, with skin the richest mahogany lined by wrinkles instead of grain. An ivory African dashiki embroidered in intricate gold patterns flowed from his broad shoulders down over matching pants that hung above bare feet.

Sam tugged at his bonds again, but there was no give. Still humming, the man walked forward, heedless of the broken glass. Limited in defense moves, Sam brought his knees up so he could at least try to kick. He forgot about the burn until he set his feet flat against the floor and his vision went white with scorching fire.

The stranger appeared at his side and rested a warm hand the Sam's right shoulder. Blinking, he forced his eyes to focus on the kind face hovering above him. “ **Peace, child. You are safe now,** ” the voice was so low and resonant it sounded like he'd chanted the Enochian. He reached his free hand toward the manacles and they fell open with a crack.

Sam immediately rolled to his left, away from the unknown angel and Shepard's burnt face. His body screamed at him for moving and he was overcome with dizziness, but the need to _get out_ was stronger. When he hit the cage, he grabbed hold of the bars and pulled himself to standing on his good foot.

“ **No! You stay. Stay!** ” Sam said as loud as he could. His throat felt like he'd swallowed razors.

The angel stayed where he was with his hands up to try and placate Sam. “ **You are injured. Will you not allow me to tend your wounds?** ” his head tilted in puzzlement.

“ **No! No allow. No touch! Stay.** ” Sam dragged himself along the walls of the cage, body shaking with the exertion. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Olive branch laying on the floor. Keeping his eye on the angel, Sam slowly made his way over to the holy relic. It took some balancing, but he was able to slide down on his right knee to pick up the stick and stand again without putting weight on his burned sole. Holding the thin rod made him feel some measure of protection for the first time since he saw Gabriel banished. “ **Who you? Name!** ”

The angel stared at him in obvious conflict and disbelief as he took a step forward, “ **I have never had a fledgling refuse healing. Why choose to extend your suffering, little—** ”

“ **I not fucking know you!** ” Sam growled, not in the mood to hear pet names from strangers.

Now that his grace wasn't about to explode, he felt more in control of his body. He used the exam table as a guide to move backwards toward the hallway. His bare feet scraped along the sharp litter on the ground but he didn't care. He was standing and moving and somewhat free for the moment. The day was already improving.

The angel stopped with a pained look and lowered his arms with a slowly half-bow. “ **My apologies, Samuel.** ”

“ **You know me?** ” Sam stopped him, needing answers over apologies. Castiel had started shielding him from other angels the day he found Sam in the bunker hallway with a knife. When Gabriel arrived, the archangel had taken over the duty and reinforced the seraphs wards with his own. According to their reception of angel-radio, no one was discussing him which apparently meant no one knew.

“ **Of course I know you, child. I knew you the moment I heard your cry. Our Father has not made a fledgling in many millenniums,** ” he smiled warmly, the words rolling out of him like a lion's purr. Sam felt a familiar pleasant tugging in his chest that drew him toward the angel. It was the same thing he felt with _his_ angels, but they had earned his trust. He watched the angel place a hand over his heart like he was going to swear a pledge. “ **We have met twice before, but only one time did I have a vessel. I am Raphael, the Healer of Heaven.** ”

Wings rose behind Raphael—a delicate curtain of pure white feathers with veins of gold and emerald. Sam's eyes widened and he stumbled briefly before regaining his balance. “ **No,** ” he whispered as his mind went straight to who was supposed to be brought back alongside this archangel, “ **No, no, no...** ” His eyes darted around the room, half expecting God's oldest angel to appear.

He needed to get out. Get away. Get to anyone still alive—anywhere that wasn't with British torturers or vengeful archangels. Movement caught his eye and he turned to see Ms Watt's arm shifting under the rubble. His body froze in a rush of other fears returning.

A hand clap broke through his rising panic, and he jumped to see Ms Watt disappear from spot a few feet away. She reappeared inside the kennel with Shepard's blistered body. Raphael stepped passed the bars and sealed the cage door with a gesture, never taking his eyes off Sam.

“ **You are safe, Samuel. I promise no harm will come to you. We will see you reunited with your family and caretakers, that is all.** ”

Raphael's eyes and tone promised more than Sam could trust—especially concerning his family. The holy relic shook in his hand, and in less than a second only one word stood out to him. “ _ **We**_ **?** ”

Raphael gave a single, low nod, “ **Michael is currently intercepting Gabriel and Castiel. They—** ”

“ **Why?!** ” Sam demanded, coughing when he pushed too hard.

“ **Why what?** ” the archangel asked, confused but patient.

“ **Why stop them being here? If you help, why stop them?** ” Sam fought to find enough words and still be hyper-vigilant for the oldest brother.

“ **Ah, yes, I meant 'intercepting' in the sense that he is providing them assistance with their re-entry.** ” Raphael smiled fondly at something Sam didn't understand.

“ **What mean?** ” he asked as he finally reached the door to the hallway.

“ **Gabriel and Castiel are currently blazing a trail through this solar system to return to you. Their speed is...greater than is advisable. Michael is simply going to ensure he slows down before crashing into the Earth, or he will risk destroying the planet.** ” The archangel took small measured steps toward Sam. “ **I do not know what led you to become separated from you flock, but they** _ **will**_ **be here soon.** ”

 

* * *

 

Gabriel saw him coming.

The vessel was hidden behind the true-form of the angel speeding toward them. He was beautiful—wings like flames trailing behind the glorious vision of God's eldest son. How long had it been since Gabriel had seen the glory his oldest brother's righteous fire? The sight filled Gabriel with giddiness. This was Michael restored. _Michael_ —the commander of God's armies and the great prince who stood up for the children of the people, not the empty shell of an angel who had hardened and dwindled behind closed doors in Heaven!

And...he was going to collide with them somewhere between Mars and the Earth's moon, if Gabriel's calculations were correct.

_Cassie, we've got incoming!_

Castiel looked up, drained but giving Gabriel all he could to help.  _Who...?_

_It's Michael! Hang on tight, bro..._

Gabriel felt when Michael's hand grabbed hold of Castiel, jerking them slightly off trajectory. Arms clamped around Gabriel's back, crushing the seraph between them. Feathers of fire gave powerful thrusts to shift their course back on track and then began to slow their momentum. 

_Hello, brothers,_ Michael said softly.

_Mickey! Fancy meeting you here._ Gabriel laughed in delight.  _Welcome back, big bro!_

_Gabriel, you are going too fast. If you do not slow down, it will cause a disaster._

_Well, you know me...places to go, people to see..._

_A fledgling to save,_ Castiel added his voice to the mix and Gabriel was proud of his little brother's casual smoothness.

_Yes, I know. Samuel Winchester is being attended to by Raphael. The Healer will deal with any who intend harm to our newest sibling. We must focus on not undoing all of Father's efforts—it will all be for naught if you demolish the world in your haste._

_Gabriel!_ Castiel's voice held the same anxiety the youngest archangel was feeling. Sam had refused to even talk about the returning two archangels since he'd learned of it. Chances of a meeting between Sam and Raphael going well without anyone else there right after a potentially traumatizing experience? Very slim.

_I know, Cassie. We're almost there._

 

* * *

 

Raphael insisted on slowly following Sam, maintaining the same distance but not allowing him to get further away. He kept his hands at his side, palms out, as though to look less threatening. It would have been more effective if Sam didn't know it took less than a thought for an archangel to scatter a person's atoms into the wind.

He focused on getting through the hallway instead of speaking. Unfortunately, he missed seeing a stray bit of debris and his bad foot caught on it. He fell back onto the ground with a painful yelp. Raphael rushed forward, arms reaching for him, but Sam yelled, “ **No! Please no!** ” Without a thought, he swung the Olive branch and stuck Raphael on the back of his hand.

Raphael reeled back, clutching the hand to his chest and staring at the rod in disgust. “ **What is that thing?** ” he demanded.

Sam gulped and didn't know if he should throw the branch far away or keep hold of it. If he angered the archangel, there would be nothing to save him. Especially not some stick that only worked if Raphael came within arm's reach of Sam and did nothing to defend himself.

Staring up at the outraged being, Sam couldn't find the Enochian words to answer. “ **It**...it's an Olive branch. Noah's dove brought a piece back to the ark from the same tree or something. I don't...” his eyes filled until he couldn't see Raphael's face clearly anymore. He shook his head, trying to work up the energy needed to move.

Rolling onto his stomach, Sam pushed up on shaking arms and ignored the tears steadily falling. They just ran together with the sweat and sprinkler water at this point. If Raphael wanted to kill him, there was nothing stopping him. But until that happened, Sam was determined to make it outside.

“ **Oh Father, what did they do to you?** ” Raphael's voice sounded too emotional for an angel. There was too much compassion and sadness infused into his ringing words. Sam didn't want to be understood by this stranger.

“Nothing I haven't already experienced at your brothers' hands,” he grunted the angry retort as he made it up onto his knees. Breathing deeply was getting harder to do, like there was an enormous weight on his back. He wondered if angels could get sick from extreme temperature exposure. Do normal angels even _feel_ temperatures? Was it a fledgling thing, or was he just different?

“ **I am sorry, Samuel, for my part in your suffering,** ” Raphael said softly. “ **Please, allow me to help. What would be most helpful to you right now?** ”

The tone had Sam looking over at him. At some point, the archangel had knelt down and was now sitting on his heels with his hands resting atop the cloth pants. He was the picture of patience and humility.

It made Sam pause—the urge to be stubborn fought with the desperation to escape. His body was crashing from the constant cold and pain and fear. Accepting help when he couldn't even stand was likely the only way he was getting out of here unless he wanted to lay in the floor and wait to be found. Or until Raphael looses his patience with him.

“ **I...I go outside,** ” he said hesitantly, watching Raphael closely. The archangel bowed his head and waited for Sam to continue. “ **No fly. Only walk.** ” When he received another nod, Sam slowly held out a hand.

Raphael unfolded himself and moved to engulf Sam's tiny hand with a calloused palm. He pulled Sam to his feet with a surprising amount of gentleness for such a powerful being. “ **Are you certain you do not wish healing? You have many injuries—some appear quite severe and painful.** ”

Sam tensed and shook his head too fast, making himself dizzy again. “ **No heal!** ” It was bad enough having to be in physical contact with another person right after being tortured by strangers. He feared feeling the grace of an archangel would be his undoing.

“ **I promise I will not heal you without permission,** ” Raphael tried to reassure him although he still looked perplexed, “ **Will you lean on me as you walk?** ”

Unexpected relief brought a brief smile to Sam's busted lips—having his consent stripped away so thoroughly made the concession feel like an big step toward reclaiming his autonomy. He nodded and they made their way slowly down the hallway and waiting area until they reached the garage. The SUV was parked in the same place, but now Sam could see what was past the garage doors.

Limping out into the driveway, he gazed at the fields and trees that stretched as far as the eye could see. The sun sat low on the horizon and Sam estimated it had been less than an hour since it first peaked over the tree line. Mist lingered in patches in the bitter morning air. But this cold was different—fresh and crisp and free.

They stood there until fatigue hit Sam and his knees started to buckle. Raphael caught him, slipping an arm behind Sam to encompass the small bony elbow. “ **Samuel...** ” he started, but paused when Sam shook his head. An escaped whimper spurred the archangel to continue, “ **Samuel, if you refuse healing then you must rest. You cannot continue to stand in your condition.** ”

Sam stared back into the garage. He probably should have found a phone inside and at least tried to call Dean. And grabbed a blanket. And found his shoes. And maybe retrieved the holy oil to send the whole building up in a fiery blaze. Closing his eyes as his body began to hang heavy in Raphael's grip, Sam imagined being back home in the bunker surrounded by family and laughter and safety.

_'Do you think we left the rest of them alive...Leave the man who bore the Mark of Cain and the thing wearing your dead mother's body?'_ Shepard's words taunted him. ' _You will never again see the archangel or your brother's blue-eyed pet.'_

Eyes snapped open and he was compelled to keep moving. His body, however, was done. There was nothing left in his energy reserves. Cramps in his stomach reminded him that he'd had no food or water since dinner two nights prior. Shifting his right foot forward, he failed to lift it high enough and the sole scraped across the driveway. Pain that had dulled during the lull ratcheted back to full strength, shooting from his foot to ricochet throughout his body. Sam swallowed back nausea and renewed tears. 

“ **Enough, child.** ” Raphael rumbled and scooped Sam into his arms. The Olive branch fell to the ground, rolling out into the weed-filled yard. 

Cradled against the broad chest, Sam flew straight into furious panic. He pushed against the immovable arms, clawing at unbreakable skin and spitting in helpless rage.  _Raphael lied!_ Sam knew better than to trust an archangel. Delivered from one enemy and into the hands of another more powerful. “ **No! No! NO!** ” he cried out before sinking his teeth into Raphael's upper arm.

Raphael seemed unphased by the struggles.  **“You are safe. We will find a place to sit comfortably and wait for the others to arrive. Shh, the fight is over. Rest now, you fierce fledgling.** ” He patiently hummed a nameless song as he carried Sam over to a bench. It was situated out a ways from the front of the building, in the yard surrounded by dead flowers. Raphael carefully sat him down on the stone seat. 

Sam scrambled to the far end of the bench and huddled there. The archangel stepped back and stared up at the sky, giving him space to settle. The morning outside was calm and still with a steady stream of low-sung notes from the archangel that sank deep into Sam's chest. His grace, raw and restless, warmed without his permission in the hummed vibrations. His breathing gradually eased and it chased away the icy-edge in the air.

The growl of an engine grew in the distance, so familiar it resonated in Sam's bones and drowned out the soft humming. His whole body thrummed with a surge of energy and anxiety. Reality was still too hazy to completely trust his senses, but he turned red-rimmed eyes toward the sound of home.

_'No one would mourn your passing.'_

The most beautiful sight emerged on the road out of the woods. The Impala, roaring at maximum speed, turned sharply into the long driveway and spun dramatically before continuing her flight straight toward them. Close on her bumper was a black Jeep he didn't recognize.

Raphael laugh quietly, “ **I believe that is the human equivalent to how Gabriel and Castiel are approaching our location as well.** ” Then, Sam watched as the smile fell from the weathered face leaving only a serene seriousness.

A deafening boom split the air and shook the ground. Sam grasped the edge of the bench to keep from falling as everything lurched and he felt a hand hold him firmly by the shoulder. “Was that...was that Cas and Gabriel?” he asked.

“ **No,** ” Raphael answered simply. A flash of silver fell from the tunic sleeve into long steady fingers. The archangel's weapon was more staff than sword with an extended grip topped by a silver globe. The end pointing toward the ground was sharp and gleaming as it swung to plant itself in the ground beside them.

A figure emerged from the far side of the clinic building and at first Sam feared it was one of the British agents somehow free and conscious. But it quickly became clear that this man was different. He wore expensive black leather and eye-liner and had long greasy hair that hung past his shoulders.

Sam recognized him as he drew closer and gaped in bewilderment. There was no way... “Vince Vicente?” he asked, baffled by the bizarre entrance of the classic rock icon. _This isn't real. I'm dreaming, or they drugged me_ , his thoughts tried to make sense of it. He dug his thumb into the meat of his left palm but nothing changed.

'Vince' stared at him and stalked closer. His boots fell like boulders against the ground and Sam knew this was not the musician he'd secretly admired a lifetime ago. One corner of the rock god's mouth curled upwards, and Sam could see _._ He heard tires skid to a stop behind him but he couldn't turn to look. Couldn't take his eyes off the waking nightmare.

 

* * *

 

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Dean cursed loudly as they tore up the longest driveway in existence. “What do you see?”

Mary leaned against the dashboard, a pair of binoculars almost touching the glass windshield. “There's an older black man standing next to Sammy. I don't see anyone else.” Her phone rang and Dean snatched it from the seat.

Switching the audio to speaker, he barked, “What!?”

“ _Don't get out!_ ” Jody's voice screamed through the phone.

“What?! Are you...” he repeated, this time in outrage.

She cut him off, “ _The man isn't human! And the twins are saying someone else..._ ”

“Dean! There's another man!” Mary shouted over Jody.

They reached the end of the drive and skidded to a stop near a garage. The Jeep stopped right behind them. Mary was already pushing the binoculars into his hand when he reached for them. Looking out the window, he looked at Sammy first.

He couldn't get a clear view of his brother, but it was definitely Sam. The kid sat at the far end of the bench with his back to them. The person standing beside the tiny hunched figure was also turned away and looked braced for battle. Dean followed the direction they were staring to see a third man.

Frowning, he pulled back from the window and wiped at his eyes. Looking again, he fiddled with the dials to refocus the lenses, trying to make the picture clearer. It didn't change—the man remained exactly the same.

“ _Dean?_ ” Jody's voice sounded confused.

“Yeah, Jody?” Dean felt like he'd fallen back into bizarro Earth.

“ _Is that..._ ” she couldn't finish and he didn't blame her.

“Yeah, Jody,” he confirmed, “It's Vince Vicente.”

It was official—nothing made sense anymore.

 

* * *

 

“Of course it's you!” Lucifer flung his arms out and laughed at the sky. “Seven and a half billion humans on this decaying planet, and it is _always_ you. Why is that?”

“ **Lucifer,** ” Raphael's voice held authority tinged with old love as he addressed his fallen brother, “ **why have you come here?** ”

“What, and miss that 'new feather' smell?” he snarked, then shrugged, “Call it curiosity. Every angel in creation heard him. I gotta ask, roomie, I _never_ heard you scream like that. What did they do that I didn't, hmm?”

“ **Enough!** ” Raphael bellowed. There was an almighty crack like a tree snapping and white feathers curtained Sam's body like the streaming leaves of a weeping willow. The smell of spicy earth and honeysuckle washed over him. Sam unconsciously tucked his feet under the bench and leaned into Raphael's hand. “ **Leave here, brother.** ”

“And why would I do that, _brother?_ ” Lucifer sneered.

A high-pitched tone pierced the morning. It was followed by a ball of fire in the sky that grew brighter and brighter, streaking straight toward them. Lucifer's head shot up to stare in horrified understanding at the rapidly approaching light, but Raphael didn't flinch. “ **Because our brothers are on their way. Gabriel is eager to return to this child—you remember how protective he is over fledglings. It is in your best interest to leave. We can settle our differences another time.** _ **Please!**_ ”

No one had time to reply. Fire trailed past them faster than sound and crashed into the field on the far side of the road. Sam could make out the angels' true-forms carve a scar through the earth as dirt billowed upward in a cloud.

 

* * *

 

Gabriel laid in the crater and wondered if this is what humans felt when they said they'd had the breath knocked out of them. Castiel was sprawled across his chest and groaning from the force of their landing. They heard another moan from the other side of the hole they'd created. Thank God for big brothers who cushioned their fall.

Lifting his head, Gabriel saw Michael stand and shake the dirt from his vessel, healing any damage taken in re-entry. Pushing Castiel up, Gabriel did the same for them. Climbing to their feet, he reached with his grace toward the other three grace-beings gathered by a building a short distance away. Cold fear and anger twisted his grace when Gabriel realized who was with Sam and Raphael. Castiel grabbed his sleeve in a death-grip, trepidation clear on his face.

_Lucifer!_ They hissed to Michael and flew into the fray without waiting on their oldest brother.

 

* * *

 

Sam watched Lucifer brace himself just as a gale-force wind almost blew him off his stylish boots. Raphael's grip and wing cover prevented Sam from being thrown to the state line as two angels slammed onto the ground in matching crouches, angel blades drawn and grace igniting their vessels from within. He pinched his palm harder—just to be safe.

Gabriel was already moving to plant himself between Lucifer and Sam, wings fully extended. “ **Crawl back to your cesspool, and do not** _ **ever**_ **think to place yourself in Samuel Winchester's presence again without permission. He is** _ **my**_ **charge, under** _ **my**_ **protection, and I will** _ **not**_ **allow him to suffer seeing your face.** ”

The sound of Gabriel's voice made Sam want to weep with relief. Peering past the white feathers, his heart raced as he saw Castiel slowly moving toward the bench. The seraph was keeping his eyes on the standoff, but when he reached them, he turned to Raphael and gave a tense nod. Sam felt the hand on his shoulder pat him gently, then the Healer stepped around the bench to join Gabriel.

Sam sat motionless when Castiel knelt in front of him and silently traced all the cuts and bruises that littered his skin before those blue eyes lifted to meet his. The angel blade disappeared inside the trench coat. Hesitantly, the seraph brought his hands up in offering. Sam stared at the raised palms, his muddied mind unable to discern what was being asked of him.

“ **Samuel, may I touch you?** ” Castiel's gruff tone felt soft as silk against Sam's raw nerves.

Heart pounding in his throat, Sam couldn't bring himself to answer. More than anything, he wanted to burrow into the familiar folds of that trench coat and stay until the world faded away. Did Castiel even know how much those words meant to him? But to say 'yes' after hours of fighting through agony inflicted by hands felt like a defeat. Fear that the touch might be what breaks the illusion of rescue and sends him back to being chained to a floor and beaten was just another motivating factor against giving in.

Raging voices grew louder. Sam flinched and hunched lower on the bench. Black wings manifested, tall and solid, to envelop them and close out the world. A rainbow of colors splintered in the sun's light and danced over the ebony feathers. The air warmed with the scent summer rain. Castiel smiled and the tugging in his chest that said _safety-home-love_ finally won out. With a nod, Sam placed one of his fists in the center of Castiel's hand.

Fingers curled around his and a sob shook Sam's shoulders. Castiel shifted forward and brought his other hand to lightly rest on the back of Sam's head, encouraging him to lean against the seraph's shoulder. That was all the push Sam needed. His hands gripped the beige collar and he buried his face in the fabric. Tears soaked through the cloth layers as he felt himself lifted and settled against Castiel's chest.

The hand softly combing through his hair moved down his neck without touching the collar and brushed against his shoulder blades. Sam let out a strangled cry and twisted away from the hand. Instincts told him to fight anything that caused pain, but they warred against the promise of safety associated with this angel. The hand immediately returned to his hair and resumed carding through the tangled curls.

“ **Shh, I am so sorry. I did not realize...shh, I will not touch them again,** ” Castiel said in a rush as he moved them somewhere further from the arguing archangels.  Sam didn't know what he was talking about, but settled back firmly when the hurt faded.

A rush of wings announced the arrival of yet another newcomer. Sam pressed harder against Castiel when he felt the angel freeze and turn back around. The others were silent.

“ **Enough of this. You are arguing about nothing. Lucifer, you are free to leave. There will be no fight between us—any of us. Please go for now, and I shall meet you at a later time and we can...talk.** ” There were two voices speaking simultaneously, an oddity Sam had grown used to hearing when listening to angels through his own grace. But this was different. Sam recognized _both_ voices, although he could only name one—Michael.

“ **Oh please, heard any good show tunes lately?** ” Lucifer mocked, bitter and angry, “ **What could we possibly talk about that was not already discussed during our forced family bonding time down under?** ”

“ **What could you possibly hope to accomplish here going against all three of your brothers?** ” Raphael's words flowed smoothly over the tension.

“ **Listen to the host, Lucifer. All of Heaven heard and felt this boy. They are massing teams right now to investigate. Will you face us all? And for what?** ” Michael radiated calm confidence.

“ **Fine!** ” Lucifer snapped and Sam flinched at the tone, “ **Have fun playing happy family. Tell Dad I said 'hi' if you ever see him again.** ” A deafening crack sounded the devil's exit.

“Ugh, still a bag of dicks,” Gabriel huffed in English, “Castiel, how is he? Let me see him.” Sam heard hurried footsteps approach them.

“Not well, although I do not think there is anything life threatening. But look at his back,” Castiel answered.

There was a sharp intake of breath and Sam braced for a touch that never came, “He's too young! Oh, Sammy...let me see you, kiddo. Raphael, I need information.”

“ **There is a severe burn on the sole of his right foot Holy oil, if I am not mistaken.** ” Raphael said from a distance, “ **I would have healed him, however...** ”

Sam felt them sit and his body was shifted so he was sideways in Castiel's lap.

Gabriel snorted, “I'm surprised he let you near him. Come on, kiddo, show me those peepers.”

Sam had to blink away salty crust from his eyelashes before he could focus on Gabriel's face hovering worriedly in front of him. Fingertips trailed over his hands where his palm now bled under the assault of his own thumbnail. “There you are,” Gabriel's voice cracked, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Sam tried to say but it came out more air than sound.

Gabriel frowned in concentration, eyes flashing gold, “What is this thing?” He reached up to Sam's throat and touched the collar.

“ **Gabriel, wait!** ” Raphael tried to warn, but it was too late.

It snapped open and fell to the ground. Sam felt the connection to his grace surge to fully open. His hands flailed, grasping at Castiel's arm wrapped around his waist and a fistful of Gabriel's feathers. Relief and pain blended into one as he felt every injury inflicted on the trapped grace. The weight on his back _moved_ and the pain flowed outward, away from his body, yet he remained bound to it.

Electricity immediately arched from his limbs and he saw the golden eyes grow round. Castiel grunted but didn't let go. Gabriel's hand pressed flat against Sam's chest and the storm drained away, “ **There we go. It is not bad this time. I suspect you already released most of it earlier. Almost there...I am so sorry it took so long.** ” After a few minutes, the hand lifted to brush against Sam's neck again. This time, cool relief soothed his torn throat and he sighed with heavy eyes.

“ **There are a bunch of humans sitting in vehicles over there. Does anyone know why?** ” Michael asked. Sam turned his face into Castiel's chest. He didn't want to see the only being he feared second to Lucifer.

“ **That was me,** ” Raphael admitted, “ **I did not wish the humans to stumble into a battle unawares. I thought it best they stayed where they were safer.** ”

Castiel turned them to see the two cars' worth of people trying to get doors and windows open. “Dean does not look happy,” he said, seeing the expression of pure wrath etched into the Righteous Man's face.

“ **Let them out, Raphael,** ” Gabriel said with glance at Michael, “This is not going to be good.”

 

* * *

 

Despite Jody's warning to stay in the car, Mary knew nothing would stop her from rushing right out there. Never mind she had nothing to wield that rated above a butter knife against anything more powerful than a seraph. Never mind that she hadn't been on a hunt for years and her youngest son's life could hang in the balance. She didn't need superpowers or a badge or the experience of several apocalypses under her belt to protect him.

She listened to Dean and Jody talk and was trying to figure out who 'Vince Vicente' could be when the field behind them exploded. Her hand flew to the door handle and she almost knocked herself out against the window when the door refused to budge. She toggled the lock and tried again to no avail. “Dean! Dean!”

“What?” he said, twisted around in his seat to see the dust cloud.

“The door won't open!”

He spun back to see her still trying to work the handle. He did the same to his door with the same results. “Damn it!” he shouted and elbowed the window. It bounced off and Dean let out a pained gasp. “Motherfu—”

“Sitting right here, Dean,” she interrupted with a frown. “Why didn't you try that with the butt of your gun?”

“Elbow seemed faster,” he wheezed.

A gust of wind rocked the car, blinding them with a kick-up of dust and dry brown grass.

“ _Dean! What is that? Can you see anything?_ ” Jody's voice streamed through the phone that had fallen in the floor.

Dean reached down and grabbed it, “No idea, Jody. Hold on...it's starting to clear.”

Mary saw the clear image of a trench coat moving toward her baby. “Oh, thank God!” she whispered, “It's Castiel.”

“Then let's hope Gabriel ain't far behind.” Dean said, still trying to open his door. “Jody, can you guys get out?”

There was a pause. “ _Nope_ ,” she answered.

“ _This is grace-magic.  And way_ _too powerful for us to break,_ ” Max's voice sounded further from the phone.

“ _Even if we had all the tools and time to prepare,_ ” Alicia added, louder.

Mary watched as Castiel picked Sam up and jealousy soured her stomach for a second. Until _he_ arrived. She heard a muffled, choked yell and realized it came from her.

Dean didn't turn around. His whole body vibrated with anticipation, laser-focused on the newest arrival to the scene. But instead of shocked, he seemed angry. Angrier than she knew him capable of being.

“Dean? What's going on?” Mary asked in a broken voice, barely able to look away from the man in the field.

He didn't answer her right away. Instead, he pulled out an angel blade and raised the phone to his mouth. “Folks, the plan is out.”

“ _What?!_ ” Jody yelled, “ _What do you mean the plan is out? We don't have another plan, Dean!_ ”

“You see those four men out there with Cas and Sam? I'm pretty sure I know who they are, and we have _nothing_ to fight any of them. Not unless Chuck shows up. We have to hope Gabriel can handle this, and pray Cas can keep Sam safe and together.” Dean said.

“Who are they?” Mary demanded.

“The archangels,” he answered quietly.

Silence fell over both cars. They watched 'Vince' gesture dramatically before leaving with a deafening boom. The tension in the yard seemed to break as Gabriel rushed to Sam and started inspecting the boy. Mary covered her mouth when she saw the grace-lightning spark off the tiny body and only started breathing again when Gabriel finished draining the energy.

Then, the locks on the doors popped up.

 

* * *

 

Sam fought against the fatigue slowly gaining ground on his body. But he couldn't sleep yet—not when Dean and his mother were sprinting toward him. There were others trailing behind them, but Sam only had eyes for his family. Alive, with a cavalry.

_'No one would mourn your passing.'_ The words whispered one more time before being thoroughly dismissed as Dean slid hard against the bench on his knees like a runner stealing third base.

“Sammy!” he was instantly pushing into Sam's space. Nose to nose with forest green eyes, his hands moving along Sam's arms and ribs, feeling for injuries. Dean pulled back a few inches so he could see the rest of him, pulling the shirt up and wincing at the bruises. “Damn kid. Gabe, why haven't you healed him yet?

“I didn't want to push him...” Gabriel started, but Dean sent him a death glare that made Sam smile.

“Dean,” Sam rasped and raised a hand to trace his brother's freckles, counting each one in reassurance that this was real. He knew this face better than anyone. And while the angels were part of the family, Dean was _home._

A throat cleared from somewhere behind Sam. “Brothers, I must leave. A team of very confused angels are about to mutiny. I have kept them from descending upon us for now, but I think it best I return to Heaven. There is much to explain and even more to do. Raphael will accompany you back to your nest, Gabriel. To ensure everyone's safety and provide assistance with healing if needed.”

Sam heard Mary gasp and looked up to see her face, pale and devastated. Her brow furrowed, caught between anger and confusion, as she stepped around them. Gabriel and Castiel and Dean all tensed, and Sam wasn't sure he wanted to know what was happening.

“Why do you look so young?” she asked. Sam had never heard his mother sound so lost, and he turned to see the cause.

He should have known. Should have realized the possibility sooner.

Michael smiled, serene and compassionate—an expression that looked all wrong on John Winchester's face. “Hello, Mary.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two posts in under 24hrs!! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has stuck through this amazing journey thus far!   
> Here's my Solstice gift to you all. And if we're really lucky, I may try to get the final chapter of this story up by Christmas...
> 
> Let the comforts commence!


	5. The Still Waters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay in posting.  
> Holidays--what can you do (besides crawl into a cave and wait them out)?  
> Hope everyone had a blessed time ringing in the destruction of 2016...I mean the arrival of 2017.  
> Always Keep Fighting, folks! <3
> 
> ALSO: I've added a gorgeous piece of artwork by the AMAZING @Echodoki to chapter 3 that y'all need to go see NOW!!  
> I mean it...go right this instant to the start of chapter 3 and weep like I do everytime I see it. Go.  
> (Thank you! Thank you! Thank you, Echodoki!!)

Michael stretched in his new vessel, testing the limits between grace and flesh. He had rarely taken a physical body since their Father left Heaven unguided and slowly breaking. Most of his existence had been spent trying to regulate the angels and preparing for his showdown with Lucifer.

 _So much time wasted,_ he mourned, watching the Righteous Man slide to his knees next to the fledgling.

Before the cage, Michael had come to view humans as poorly as Lucifer. A failed leftover experiment of their Father's creation, they served a single purpose—birth the brothers meant to house the oldest two archangels. No one had been prepared for the vessels to defy their destiny. Or Sam Winchester's resolve against all the forces of Heaven and Hell.

The sight of Samuel, curled up on the seraph's lap and mapping freckles across his human brother's face, made Michael smile sadly. The child was captivating with his unique blend of grace and soul, both of which the archangel was intimately familiar. His Father's light flowed through the small body. It was the same light Michael saw when he was first formed. For an unmeasurable amount of time, it was the only light he knew until the Morningstar joined them in the unshaped universe. But Sam's soul—that was a light he remembered taking delight in dimming.

The thought turned Michael's grace and he cursed how it translated in the vessel as a feeling of nausea he couldn't entirely block out. His Father had designed it to perfectly fit the archangel and allowed for a depth of connection that defied his previous experiences entombed in skin. It was supposed to bind him to humanity on a physical level, but mostly it left him feeling sick and off-kilter. Especially the physical responses to guilt and sorrow that trailed him since the cage.

Voices from Heaven cut through his musings. He had intercepted a garrison attempting to approach their location after Gabriel and Castiel left to join Raphael against Lucifer. The warriors went from frantically responding to the fledgling's cry for help to flabbergasted at finding their commander alive and free. It had been easy convincing them to return and wait for him, but now they grew impatient. And word of his return was spreading through the Host as more and more voices joined the clamor.

Focusing back on the reunion playing out in front of him, he saw the bonds of love that tied these humans and angels together. They cared for each other deeply—as they should. _Is it too late? Can we still make things different?_ he wondered. This family gave him hope.

He cleared his throat, hesitant to draw attention to himself, and spoke in English out of respect for the humans. “Brothers, I must leave. A team of very confused angels are about to mutiny. I have kept them from descending upon us for now, but I think it best I return to Heaven. There is much to explain and do. Raphael will accompany you back to your nest, Gabriel. To ensure everyone's safety and provide assistance with healing if needed.”

There was a gasp and Michael saw the blonde woman's face crumple. He recognized her as she moved toward him. She was older than the last time. He held still when she reached a hand to his face, but she pulled it back before they touched.

“Why do you look so young?” she asked, brokenly.

Michael smiled, “Hello, Mary.”

The sound of his voice saying her name made her recoil and she stepped back to her huddled family. “You aren't John.” It wasn't a question.

“No, I am not John Winchester,” he said gently, gesturing at his torso and keeping his distance, “and he is not in this vessel with me. I am Michael, Commander of the Host of Heaven, at your service. I promise I will do everything in my power to keep you and your family safe. But for now, I shall keep my distance.” He met the terrified hazel eyes peeking around the seraph's shoulder, “I have not earned a place of welcome or trust here yet, so I shall not linger.”

“What of the **wretches** inside?” Raphael asked, and Michael heard the thread of anger running below the words.

“They come with me,” his voice turning hard as they moved around the group to enter the garage. He had not gone inside yet, and he felt the need to see with these new eyes the place and people involved here. This was personal. And if there was a plot against the Winchesters, then it would be sought out and sundered.

“Stay here with Cas, Sammy, okay? I'll be right back. Gabe's gonna stay with you too, and so is Mom.” Michael heard Dean whisper, then jog to join them. “I want to see them,” his true-vessel said, eyes flashing a furious green.

Michael nodded in understanding. He saw Raphael retrieve something from the grass and then they walked inside. The place reeked of old death and ozone. Smoke hung in the air and he was startled when it burned his eyes. Blinking to clear the unfamiliar sensation, he turned to Raphael.

“There was a holy oil fire,” the Healer explained, “It was small—already out by the time I arrived, but the smoke is highly irritating.”

“They kept him in a ring of holy fire?” Dean demanded to know.

“No,” Raphael said, ringing with regret, “They used it to burn his grace through the sole of his foot.”

Michael felt a surge of enraged fire run over his wings, but the human spoke first. “And they're still alive?” he said in a tone low and dangerous. Michael was pleased to hear an impressive amount of threat in it.

“The man is almost gone, but the woman did not sustain any mortal injuries,” Raphael reported as they stepped into a room reminiscent of Hell.

There were echoes of pain and fear that lingered in the frozen space. Hard gleaming metal and pools of water reflected the flashing lights. Michael flicked a finger and shut off the sprinklers and alarms.

 _Mickey, reign it in!_ Gabriel's voice sounded frustrated, _Sam can feel your temper, and now Cassie's having to calm him down._

 _I am sorry, brother._ Michael winced at the thought of adding to the boy's misery and quickly cooled his anger.

_I know. And I'm sure I wouldn't be much better if I was in there seeing...whatever that was. Just...you may not want to come back out when you leave. Sam can't take seeing you again._

Michael felt the layers of Gabriel's regret and simply replied, _I understand._ He took in the ruined equipment and score-marks seared across every surface. In the center of it all sat a cage with two humans.

“What will you do with them?” Dean asked through clenched teeth.

“They will be interrogated, and when we have what we need, their souls shall be delivered to Hell. Their fates were sealed the second they touched Samuel—abuse of a fledgling is a crime never before imagined, let alone committed, and it will carry a strict sentence,” Michael answered, “Until I settle the garrisons, they can sit in Heaven's prison and wait. In the meantime, I shall send a team to patrol your area. They will keep watch from a distance without intruding. Should you wish to continue hunting dangerous creatures, they will not interfere, but nothing will come within striking distance of your nest.”

“Protection whether we want it or not? Awesome,” the human sighed.

“You would turn away safety measures available to you?” Raphael tilted his head as he spoke, “Your brother was also adamantly opposed to assistance. Is this a human-thing?”

“No,” Dean snorted and dragged a hand through disheveled hair, “it's a trust thing. As in, we don't trust you.” There was a pause and the man dropped his arm and exhaled noisily. “But I can't stop you.”

“I do not wish for these actions to upset you.” Micheal tried to explain.

“Hearing my brother scream your name in his sleep upsets me,” Dean said coldly, then looked away and shook his head at the sight of the room, “And if wishes were horses...well, we'd have a fuck-ton of horses and still be covered in shit.”

The phrase was meaningless to the archangel, but he understood the first part. “I have done irreparable harm to Samuel for which I may never be able to atone. I will not force my presence on him or any of your flock unless you call on me.”

“Good. Stay away. Use angel radio to talk to Gabriel, or better yet, learn to use a phone. But no surprise visits and I don't want to see so much as a feather on my lawn from your patrols. Understood?” the Righteous Man ordered the Commander of Heaven.

Michael stared in some awe of his true-vessel. How had he missed seeing this fire before? Truly, the world would have burned had Dean ever consented. “Yes, I understand,” he said with a nod, “I must go.”

“Take this with you,” Raphael handed him the object he'd picked up in the yard. The smooth wood felt unpleasantly hot in his hand.

“What is it?”

“A branch of the sacred Sisters' Olive trees,” the Healer stated.

Michael frowned as he studied the rod. “But why...?”

“They used it against the child. It inflicts terrible pain on our grace,” Raphael winced and rubbed the back of his hand, “Samuel lashed out with it when he believed I would harm him.”

Michael quelled the urge to incinerate the wood. Instead, he nodded again. “Take care of them, brother. I will see you in Heaven when you have finished,” he turned to the hunter who looked green, “I take my leave, Dean Winchester. Be well. I am sure we will meet again.”

And without waiting for a reply, Michael flew home with the prisoners.

 

* * *

 

Gabriel stayed beside Sam when his brothers and Dean went into the building. Castiel was right—while there was nothing life-threatening, the boy was definitely not alright. Shock made his hazel eyes unnaturally bright and his body was littered with injuries that went below the skin. Gabriel could see the bruised grace that rolled restlessly. And now that Dean was out of sight, Sam was digging at his left palm with renewed vigor.

“Hey Sammy,” he sung lowly, “Easy there, kiddo.” He tapped fingertips against the back of Sam's offending hand. Exhaustion slowed the boy's response, but eventually he looked down where Gabriel's fingers touched him. “I know you're pretty overwhelmed right now. We're going home soon, I promise. So let's not add to the list of things that need healing, okay?”

“Why does he do that?” Mary asked, still shaky and pale from seeing John's face.

Castiel answered her first. “It is a grounding technique he uses when he is unsure of his ability to discern reality.” He gently pried Sam's hands apart and substituted his own for the boy to press on, “I imagine it will take time for him to recognize that he is, in fact, safe.”

Gabriel stood from the bench and allowed Mary to sit next to her son. She perched on the edge like it may collapse under her presence. Her hands twitched several times, almost reaching for the boy but she kept stopping herself. “Hey Sammy,” she gave him a watery smile. They watched as Sam slowly lifted his gaze to his mother and soaked in the sight of her face.

Resting his head against Castiel's chest, Sam managed a tentative smile back. Gabriel let out a breath and crouched down by them. He needed to assess Sam's injuries and sort out what needed immediate care. “Sam,” Gabriel said and waited until he had the kid's attention, “I need to take a look at your foot, okay?” Sam shook his head and tried to tuck his feet under the bench. “I know, it's the last thing you want right now, but I need to see how bad it is. It's a long enough drive to get home without you sitting in agony, and I can't fly us with your wings in their state. So, please, may I see your foot? I promise not to touch without...”

He trailed off when Sam suddenly sat up. Curls swirled around as he twisted his head to look over his shoulders. The movement made him wince but he still used his free hand to reach behind him. Gabriel grabbed it and drew Sam's focus back to him. “What's wrong, Sam? Are they hurting you? I-I've never seen a fledgling manifest them so early...”

Sam shook his head and swallowed before trying to talk again. “ **Wings?** ”

Gabriel calculated what words were missing from the sentence as was usually the case when Sam spoke Enochian. _Are they okay? What are they doing?_ “What about them, Sammy? Can you try English?”

The boy was breathing too quickly as he struggled to speak, “What wings?”

They had discussed the stages of development for angels once, but no one had been sure how closely Sam would follow them. Wing development, however, was supposed to be off the table for a few more _centuries._ Which was probably why Sam looked so freaked out...

“Oh,” Gabriel whispered, glancing at Castiel who also seemed to realize that Sam didn't know what had happened, “Um, right. So, that feeling between your shoulder blades? That pressure pulling at your spine? It seems like you sprouted some wing buds a little ahead of schedule.”

“Sam has wings?” Mary asked, trying to look over Sam's shoulder, “I don't see anything.”

“They are rarely visible to humans,” Castiel answered, “And his are very...small.”

Mary glanced to Gabriel when she heard something in Castiel's tone. He sighed, “They are a little underdeveloped but I think that's to be expected considering how early they've come. I'll talk to Raphael about it, but I'm sure they just need time and nurturing.” He couldn't help but think how that was exactly what Sam needed too.

A flare of anger bled through Gabriel's bond with Michael and he shuddered to think of what had his oldest brother so furious. Castiel met his eyes and he knew the seraph had felt it too. They weren't expecting Sam to tense up and turn into Castiel's shirt with a whimper. “Shh, Sam, he is not angry with you,” the angel murmured, gathering the fledgling closer. “He'll be leaving soon and you don't have to see or talk to him, I promise.”

Gabriel knew there was no looking at Sam's foot until Michael left. He sent a quick thought to his brother, letting him know that he should avoid returning outside to them and to keep a lid on his emotions. Looking around, he tried to figure out a way to distract Sam. “Do one of you fine humans happen to have water with you? And maybe a blanket?”

“Sure do,” the short-haired sheriff said.

“Fantastic. Cassie, how about you sit with him in the Impala. Might make him more comfortable,” he directed before following the woman back to the Jeep. Mary and the two bronze bombshells stayed with them.

“What is happening, Gabriel?” Mary asked in a hushed voice, not understanding what had upset Sam.

“It's Michael—something made him pretty angry in there and Sam felt the backlash. I just want to get him somewhere comfy and quiet and familiar.”

“And why can't you fly us back to the bunker?” Mary frowned as the sheriff handed her a blanket.

“Because those tiny wings are way too sensitive right now to handle flying. I think burning him with holy oil may have jump-started their growth, but they didn't fully emerge. Like they're still trapped in a metaphysical membrane. They're gonna need some work.”

“We didn't know what state we'd find Sam in,” said the young woman.

“So we also brought juice and a chocolate protein drink,” the young man followed.

“Just in case,” they ended together.

“Mary, you think we can keep them? Please? I'll feed them and everything,” Gabriel begged as they returned to the Impala with all the supplies.

“We'll talk about it,” she returned with a hint of a smile.

Castiel sat on the back passenger side, with Sam's head resting in the crook of his elbow. The boy laid on his side, facing the angel's chest. One dark wing stretched around them in warmth and protection without touching skin. Blue eyes looked relieved at the sight of them.

“Hey kids, how's it going over here?” Gabriel said with a soft cheerfulness as he slid next to them behind the driver's seat, being sure to duck under the feathers. Mary got into the front and turned to face them.

“His right leg has an injury that is too painful to take his weight if he lays on that side. And he does not find leaning back against anything tolerable,” Castiel reported. He was holding his left arm awkwardly above Sam's face, and slowly working his fingers through the tangled hair.

Gabriel looked pointedly at his brother's posture, then raised an eyebrow in question.

 _He is in a lot of pain and very tired. I believe it makes him feel safe._ Castiel told him silently.

 _It's instinct_ , Gabriel sighed, _When children get scared, they cocoon. If they can't fight or run, they hide._

_But Sam is not mentally a child._

_He has the grace of a child._ Gabriel insisted. _Very young grace that is hurting and nervous._

Castiel nodded in understanding. _He has not spoken since asking about his wings._

“Hmm,” Gabriel considered their options and opened a bottle of apple juice, “Sammy, do you want something to drink? I've got some juice here.” Castiel lifted his elbow slightly so they could see the small head shake in answer. “Okay, how about a blanket?” Another shake of his head. Castiel lowered his arm when the boy's body began to tighten.

 _Perhaps we should just let him rest for a minute. Hopefully, Dean will be able to ground Sam and get him to respond on a verbal level,_ Castiel suggested.

Suddenly, Michael's presence vanished from the area and some of the tension in the air eased. _Well, that should certainly help things_ , Gabriel mused. Within seconds, Dean and Raphael were exiting the building. The hunter stalked toward them with murder in his eyes. _Okay, I'm gonna head him off,_ Gabriel told Castiel as he slid out of the car.

“Deano, hold up,” he said, running up to the man.

“What?” Dean practically snarled.

“Just take a breath there, big guy. You're gonna send your brother into hysterics if you go near him like this,” Gabriel settled his hands on the hunter's shoulders and used his strength to let the man know this wasn't a suggestion.

“You didn't see...” Dean started, half blinded by tears of rage.

“I don't need to see what is inside that building to know what was done to Sam,” Gabriel said seriously, “And because we both know some of what he went through, it's up to us to stay calm and let Sam know it will not happen again. Right?”

Dean blinked and his eyes focused on the archangel. It took a moment for the words to push past his anger, but when they did he exhaled slowly and leaned forward with his hands on his knees. Gabriel left one hand to pat the broad shoulders as the man collected himself. Raphael stood close and waited. Finally, Dean straightened back up. “Right,” he answered in a much calmer voice, “You're right. How's he doing?”

“Not talking. In pain and trying to hide. Almost tore a hole in his palm with his thumb when he couldn't see you.” Gabriel gave him the honest rundown. Dean would read the same with his own eyes in an instant anyway—there was no sugar coating it. “I need to look at his foot. That burn will take some serious healing when we get back, but I can at least stop the pain until we do.”

Dean nodded, wiped at his face, and got into the car next to his brother.

Gabriel felt Raphael step next to him. “I was under the impression that these are not normal situations for humans to be in. Yet there seems to be a routine here,” the Healer observed.

“Have you _met_ the Winchesters?” Gabriel returned, scrunching his face in disbelief. Turning, he got a good look at his brother. The Healer's new vessel suited him.

“Dean Winchester was not surprised to hear any of his brother's symptoms. These are not new behaviors, then?”

Gabriel sighed and reached a hand to his brother's forehead. He showed Raphael images of the past two weeks—stories of sacrifices made since the apocalypse, and the suffering the Winchesters had endured as a consequence.

Raphael gasped at the new knowledge. “I see.”

 

* * *

 

Sam wanted to stay where it was dark and warm. His head pounded with each heartbeat, stuck replaying the moment he saw Lucifer's light radiating out of Vince Vicente's body. And how the Morningstar's icy grace suddenly clashed with Michael's burning wrath.

He vaguely heard someone ask a question and the darkness lifted to flood his face with light. The question was unimportant—the answer was 'no' regardless. It was the only safe answer to give to faceless voices. Shaking his head didn't help the forming migraine, but he made himself respond. Anything to make the world go away. The light left him exposed and he curled up tighter to compensate.

When the dark fell like a curtain again, the tightness in his chest loosened enough to let him breathe. As long as he didn't move, Sam could drift in the dulled pain that stretched past his body. It was blissfully disconnecting—being pulled beyond his physical self. The sensation was as close to dissociating as he could get now. If the memories of the cage would fade as well, it might allow him to truly separate himself from what had happened.

Someone else joined them, but this person's voice cut through the layers keeping the world at bay. “Sammy? I'm back, little brother. Can you sit up for me? Come on, dude, sit up and drink some juice. It's apple, the kind you like. Come on. No smothering in Cas' shirt, alright?”

The arm holding Sam's head slowly raised him up despite his best attempts to stay concealed. Hands adjusted him so he sat sideways on a lap with a large arm wrapped around his waist. Sam tried to keep his face covered with his own arms, but familiar fingers took hold of his hands and brought them down, working to unclench his fists. Anxiety closed his throat and he heard himself whine in fear of being restrained again.

“Hey, hey...it's just me. Open your eyes, Sam. Please?” Sam felt his right hand get passed to someone else. Then, a single finger traced down the bridge of his nose. He jerked his head back but he couldn't go far with the arm holding him in place. There was a pause, and Sam kept his eyes firmly clenched.

The feather-light touch repeated and Sam started to relax into the bizarre but painless motion. Memories shifted from the cage to when he was actually six years old, laying in bed and pretending to sleep while his ten year old brother tried to wake him. It was their morning ritual to see how many swipes it took to make Sam smile and admit defeat.

Dean's voice was inches away from his face and Sam smelled coffee on his breath. “Saaammy, you know you want to look at my perfectly chiseled face, so open those eyes and soak it up. Come on, dude, I'll let you pick the music in the car for a month. Saaam...if you open your eyes, we can get a dog...”

Sam's eyes snapped open to see a startled Dean drop his jaw. But it was the angel's reaction that made the concession worth it.

Castiel gasped and every muscle in the vessel tensed. “Really?” he asked, a little breathless with excitement. Pure joy wrapped around them as it sang through Castiel's grace and shimmered across his feathers. Sam didn't have to turn to know the look Dean was getting from enormous blue eyes.

Dean huffed a laugh that was exasperated and fond, “Figures that's what would get your attention. And _you_ ,” he threw a look at Castiel, “calm it down before _you_ need a puppy pad.” His finger continued trailing from Sam's forehead to the tip of his nose, never increasing its pressure.

“I do not understand that reference.”

Sam felt the corner of his mouth lift a little with each pass—just like his brother had trained him to do in their early years.

“Yeah, well thanks to Mr. Selective-Listening here, you will,” Dean's smile mirrored Sam's own, slowly growing in strength. “Morning, Little Sammy Sunshine. You awake in there now?”

If fingers on his nose formed their childhood ritual, then those words were the closing chant. Nostalgia spread through Sam with such a swell of _safety_ that he felt his eyes burn. He nodded when Dean continued to gaze at him, clearly waiting for a response.

“Good deal,” he let go of Sam's hand to pull a bottle of apple juice from the floor and twist it open, “I need you to drink some of this. Can you do that? Or do you want water?”

Sam grimaced and wrapped his free arm around his queasy stomach.

“Have you had any food or drink since...you left?” Dean asked, sounding confident he already knew the answer. Sam shook his head. “I didn't think so. You need the hydration and the sugar, dude. That's why your stomach hurts. I've got some crackers in the glove box too. Here, just a few sips.”

The bottle was held up to his cracked lip and Sam felt the cold liquid slosh against the dry skin. He pulled back to lick it off and the tart sweetness of the juice hit him all at once. Suddenly, he wanted more and Dean saw the change. He brought the drink back and carefully let Sam drink from it.

“Easy there, small sips. You know guzzling it will make you sick.” Half the bottle was gone before Dean drew it away. “Okay, let's see how that sits with you for a minute and then you can have the rest. Are you feeling more awake?”

Sam looked around and recognized where he was for the first time. Mary sat watching them from the front seat and she lit up when he faced her. He returned the smile and was surprised at how easy it was to do so. Peering out the back window and saw a group of people including...Jody Mills? He turned to Dean with a bewildered expression, silently asking the question.

Dean waited a second, like he was hoping Sam might speak, but then simply grinned and nodded, “Yeah, Jody's here. We got sealed into the bunker and had to call for help. And she brought some friends. You'll like them. Twins, who were raised by a witch and a hunter. They're how we found you.”

Movement drew his attention to the space through the open door behind Dean and Gabriel crouched down by them. “Aren't you a sight for sore eyes,” the archangel said in relief, “What do you say we blow this popsicle stand?”

He started to nod eagerly, but then he remembered what was still out there past the cars and yard. Sam's eyes darted to the building and a cold chill swept over him. He couldn't stop himself from squeezing Castiel's hand. His gaze shifted between the clinic and his brother, hoping he'd understand.

Luckily, Gabriel read his expression as well. “They're gone, Sam. Heaven has them in custody and you will never see them again.” There was a finality to his tone that rang with power and confidence. Sam didn't know if he believed it but he sure wasn't going back in to check. All he wanted now was to leave and get far away from this place. He gave Gabriel a short nod.

Dean grinned, “Perfect. I say we go home, eat a shit-ton of leftovers, and sleep for a week.” He started to slide out of the car when Sam reached out and clutched his sleeve, pulling him closer. “Whoa. What's wrong?”

But Sam couldn't answer. He was too distraught over the idea of Dean leaving his sight for even a second. Even just to move to the front seat. If Dean left, reality always followed until Sam was alone again in the frozen dark. He wrenched his hand away from Castiel and grabbed at his brother's collar.

“I believe he'd prefer you stayed with him,” Castiel said with a smile, already moving to shift Sam into Dean's arms.

“But who's gonna...” Dean started to ask even as he automatically gathered Sam closer.

“Mary can drive the Impala. I will sit up front so Gabriel can provide assistance or healing. Be sure you do not touch his shoulder blades. They are too painful and sensitive for him to handle any pressure.” Castiel laid out the solutions calmly and no one could argue against them. He opened the car door and climbed out, gently closing it as Dean scooted over to take his seat. Leaning into his brother, Sam allowed the scent of gunpowder and cheap soap to surround him.

“I'll be right back too,” Mary said quietly and slipped out of the car.

Gabriel carefully got in next to them. Gathering a folded blanket, the archangel placed it on his own lap. “While Cassie rounds up the troops, how about I take a peek at that foot, hmm?” He patted the blanket casually but the look in his eyes betrayed his nervousness.

Sam tried to tuck his toes away from view, but Dean sided with the archangel. “Listen, dude, it's a three hour drive if _I'm_ at the wheel. Probably longer with Mom driving. I know you don't want to be fooled with, but this isn't something I can fix with some burn cream. So let's get you comfortable and then Gabe can do his 'hair-brushing' thing on your foot, okay?”

There was a moment of internal struggle. Sam's impulses were all firing in contradiction to each other. He didn't want to be touched, yet the mere thought of sitting alone had him clinging harder to his brother's shirt. He couldn't bring himself to talk, but each second of silence made encroaching memories unbearable. He wanted to hide from all angels and go against his grace that even now was searching for comfort.

“Please, Sam. You don't need to be in pain,” Gabriel pleaded softly. His eyes were already swirling with gold grace.

Sam felt his own respond with a strong _tug_ in his chest and he swallowed hard. “ **I ask, you stop?** ” he whispered hoarsely. The archangel's eyes widened in delight at the sound of his voice. Sam blushed, feeling like talking was such a ridiculous thing to get stuck on. Usually, only Dean witnessed his mute periods on their worst days.

“ **I will absolutely stop,** ” Gabriel assured with a smile, echoing his words from their first time grooming.

Sam studied the archangel before consenting. “Okay.”

Gabriel's relief was tangible as he exhaled in a noisy rush of air. “Oh thank Dad!” he whispered to the car roof, then turned golden orbs on Sam, “Alright, prop your toesies up right here. I'm need to see what we're dealing with first. I'll ask before I touch anything, okay?”

Slowly, Sam turned and laid on his side, letting Dean's arms support him the same way Castiel had done. Once he was ready, he brought his legs up and placed them tenderly on the blanket. The movement sent flares of hot pain along his bones, and he hissed through his teeth.

“Oooow!” Gabriel grimaced at the seared sole, “That's no little suntan. Physically, this is a solid third-degree burn. But it goes all the way to your grace. That's what hurts so bad—the nerves are gone but your grace still feels it all.”

“Can you heal it?” Dean worried.

“Bodies aren't a problem. Grace is a lot more complicated and takes longer to heal. I may need to consult with a professional,” Gabriel glanced out the window and surprise flashed across his face. Sam followed his gaze to see Raphael walking into the building again—with Castiel and Mary. “But for now, may I use a bit of grace here, Sam?”

Sam fidgeted nervously. He knew Gabriel was referring to the other archangel, and he wasn't ready to let the stranger close enough to touch. “ **Only you?** ” he asked, barely audible against Dean's shirt.

“Yes, only me. We'll talk about the next steps in your healing later, after we're home and more comfortable. Right now, it's just you and me and Deano. Your mom and Cas will be back in a minute. Okay?”

He hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Okay.”

Gentle fingers wrapped around Sam's right ankle, holding firm when he automatically kicked. “Only me, Sam.” A cool breeze flowed into his body, calming the raw nerves. Sam's grace gathered high in his chest and shoulders, coiling away from the intrusion. “ **It is alright. Breathe nice and slow for me. Good, very good. No need to push—your grace is confused and upset. Just breathe and relax. It will remember me.** ”

Sam wanted to ask what that meant but he was too focused on breathing around the pressure in his chest. The moving current eased the muscles in his legs and billowed through his body, skirting the balled-up grace. Eventually, the tight bundle of energy seemed to realize that Gabriel was not there to cause pain. It unwound itself enough to tentatively reach toward the archangel and Sam suddenly understood Gabriel's phrasing. There was a surge of electric joy as it rushed to meet him, swirling around the ancient power that patiently allowed the frenzied reaction. He heard the deep chuckle that echoed under Gabriel's human voice. “ **I missed you too, Samuel.** ”

Gradually, his grace calmed under the steadying influence of the archangel. Cool, healing energies alleviated the throbbing in his right thigh where he'd been kicked. Pain dissolved into memory, leaving only a pleasant tingling in its place. He reveled in the sensation and felt the fear of the last twenty-four hours finally start to yield.

Hesitantly, Sam tried to allow himself to accept the possibility of all this being real. ' _Where exactly did you think you were going? How long do you think you can hold out?'_ He took a shuddering breath and gulped in Dean's scent.

Gabriel responded to the spike in turmoil by increasing the flow of grace. “Shh, it's alright. You're safe now. Here comes Cassie and your mom. Looks like we're ready to go.” Sam felt doped up with his buzzing skin and lack of discomfort. The archangel was definitely more effective than whatever prescriptions they kept stocked. He heard the front doors open and the car rocked as the others got in. “Hey you two! Are we good to go?”

"Yep,” Mary sounded shaky, “Jody's gonna lead the way back to the bunker. I don't trust a computer giving directions from your phone. Plus, I'm pretty sure she doesn't want to push our chances of getting stopped by the police for recklessly driving at excessive speeds.”

“Raphael will follow from the sky,” Castiel added. There was a pause, and then he asked, “How is he?”

“Doing better. He's letting me take care of the pain.”

Fatigue weighed heavy in Sam's limbs, but his mind felt almost too light as it flitted around. Thoughts refused to settle on any one thing. He shifted around every few minutes just to know he could. And to keep his circulation going—staying still invited the chill to creep back into his extremities.

The engine roared to life, sending vibrations through the air. Sam sighed as they started moving. The Impala's purr blended with Gabriel's grace-hum and his brother's heartbeat to wrap him in music better than a lullaby.

 

* * *

 

Gabriel watched Sam calm at the rumble of the engine. He hadn't been exaggerating when he'd told Castiel that fledglings liked to cocoon when upset, but it wasn't entirely an emotional response. Young grace was hypersensitive and easily overstimulated. Buffering their sensory input was a built in coping mechanism for when things got to be too much.

Traditionally, caretakers swaddled the stressed child in grace until its hum was all they heard. It never failed to calm the younger angels, but Gabriel didn't think the boy would tolerate being wrapped in grace like that yet. Instead, he shared a smile with Castiel as Sam responded to the Impala like she was his caretaker.

“Is he asleep?” Mary whispered.

Dean let out a quiet laugh, “Are you kidding? We'll be lucky if the four of us manage to get him to sleep by tomorrow morning.” Sam frowned into his brother's shirt as Dean brushed the sweaty mess of hair away from Sam's face. “Sometimes, he can't shut off after intense shit. It was easier before we had the bunker. When we lived in the Impala between motel rooms and he got like this, I could just drive around until he conked out.”

The boy blinked up at his brother's face where a light blush accompanied the admission. Dean gave him a goofy grin and kept brushing his hair. Sam shot back with a better bitch-face than Gabriel thought possible under the circumstances. “God, don't forget my bottle when you have to rock me,” he slurred, which voided any ground made with his scowl.

The car swerved slightly as Mary gave a startled laugh. “Sorry! I wasn't expecting that.”

Gabriel joined with his own giggles and they all sounded borderline hysterical. “I think someone is cranky,” He teased and allowed some of that giddiness to echo over his connection with Sam—not to change the boy's mood, but to reassure him with some lightheartedness.

“I think I'm allowed to be cranky,” Sam mumbled but his lips firmed like they were fighting a grin. Gabriel felt him become restless now that his eyes were open.

“Speaking of bottles,” Dean pulled the juice from where it sat wedged in the seat, “How's the stomach doing? You want more to drink?”

“Yeah. I want to sit up,” Sam said and struggled to make his boneless limbs work.

“Hold on. Let _me_ , you tiny drunk. I got ya.” Dean's words were gruff, but his touch was soft. He and Gabriel worked together to get Sam upright and supported. Once vertical, the boy took his time blinking owlishly at everyone. Castiel had turned around in the front seat and Mary was white-knuckling the steering wheel while sneaking glances through the rear-view mirror. Dean held the bottle out and Gabriel unscrewed the lid—neither of them willing to give up the hand connected to Sam.

“Gabe,” Sam said after a few drinks, “you may need to dial it back a few notches. I think it's a lil' strong.”

Gabriel frowned, “Are you sure? I'm already using less than you need.” If they were in Heaven, a soldier with wounds like Sam would have been placed in a healing trance. But the kid didn't trust on that level.

“Dean's right, 'm slurring,” he shook his head as though to clear it, “Can't con-conc...pay 'tention.”

Castiel leaned closer over the seat, “What do you need to concentrate on?”

Sam tilted his head and tried to focus on the blue eyes, “What?”

“Why do you need to pay attention?” he reiterated.

The boy seemed distressed over the question. He gazed around the car, stopping on Gabriel. “Cassie's trying to tell you that it's okay to not concentrate on things. There are enough people here to be on guard for you.”

“No,” Sam insisted, “I can't think straight. There are others...what if they...”

Gabriel looked at Dean, unsure of what Sam needed to hear. The hunter was already on it, “Sam, you can't think straight because you're tired and injured. Have you slept at all?”

Sam shrugged and dropped his gaze to where Gabriel still held his ankle. “Got knocked out for a bit. Dunno how long.”

“Unconsciousness ain't the same as sleep. Did your skull get cracked?” Dean asked while searching his brother's scalp for injury.

“My head hit a few things,” Sam answered quietly without looking up, “but I passed out—they burn'd my foot. When I woke up, everything had exploded 'round me and they were on the floor.”

Gabriel was more convinced that the holy fire was the cause of Sam's grace explosion and wing development. He almost wished he had gone into the building to pay the bastards a visit, but Sam was his priority now—not vengeance. “That doesn't sound fun. What did they want?” He kept his tone light and started to rub the boy's ankle, pushing more healing energy into the foot while he still was allowed.

Sam shuddered and fear skittered along their connection. “Me to obey,” he whispered after a few heartbeats of silence, “He was mad I tried to run.”

Dean made a face. “Well, they didn't know you very well if they expected you to behave,” he said with a huff and pulled the boy closer. “That's never been the Winchester way.”

“They did, though,” Sam said distantly, “They knew all of us. Knew our names and faces. Knew I had grace. Knew Mom and Gabe were back. He watched us for days. They got other angels before n'studied 'em. They've weapons and knowledge. They said...”

“What did they say, Sam?” Dean asked calmly. Gabriel felt the anxiety rise though Sam and saw him resume digging into his palm. Whatever these people had said or done, it was enough to make the boy question reality. “Hey,” Dean intervened by placing his own between the two tiny hands, “I'm right here, remember? Stone number one. We got you out, Sam. You're safe, okay?”

The words sounded like an often repeated mantra between the two. Sam sniffed and looked up at his brother. Trembling worked its way down his arms as he confessed, “They said you and mom were dead. That they'd killed you both, and I'd never see Gabe or Cas again.”

“You...you thought we were all dead?” Dean went still and pale.

Sam tried to shrug but it came out more like a full-body shudder. “I dunno. I saw Gabe get blown 'way by somethin' powerful. And when no one showed up right away, I knew the blast had got'n Cas too. I'd no way of knowing 'bout anyone.”

“Well, obviously they lied because we're all fine,” Dean said into Sam's hair.

Sam was flushed and Gabriel felt the boy's grace begin to churn out heat. The archangel acted immediately, cooling the energies to try and balance it out. He couldn't tell if it was the burn affecting it or if the grace was responding to something else. There were too many possibilities between his wings manifesting, sleep deprivation, and torture. The problem was the lack of precedent here.

 _Gabriel, he looks ill. Can fledglings get sick?_ Castiel's worry echoed the archangel's own.

 _Not the ones made and raised in Heaven—they never suffered more than a bruise from clumsy flying. But they also never had pieces of a human soul melded with their grace. Or been tortured into growing wings this early. No angel has ever even had a vessel to feel things physically until they were fully grown. We're dealing with a lot of firsts here._ Gabriel started making a mental list of things to discuss with Raphael as soon as possible.

“You're feeling a little warm there, dude. You okay?” Dean's voice brought them back to the present.

“C-cold,” was all Sam could stammer out as he tried to get closer to his brother.

“Aww, man, you're pouring sweat,” the hunter looked torn between concern and disgust as the boy grew frustrated at not finding enough heat, “Gabe, what's wrong with him?”

“His grace is ramping up heat, but I don't know why. I'm trying to cool it down, but it's fighting me.” Gabriel explained even as Sam's grace tried to pull away from him.

 _With grace so young, how would it react if cut off from conscious guidance and placed in near freezing conditions?_ Castiel asked silently. Gabriel could almost hear the wheels spinning in the seraph's mind.

 _Freezing conditions?_ He saw the blue eyes harden and bit his tongue to keep from reacting to the depth of anger and sadness found there.

_The room was thirty-eight degrees. I am sure that even without a connection, his grace would recognize the threat to its vessel._

_You think his grace is instinctively still trying to warm him up?_ Gabriel perked up at the theory.

 _Or it's reacting to the memory of cold. Sam associates low temperatures with Lucifer, which may be complicating things,_ Castiel speculated, looking back at the boy. “Sam, was it very cold where they kept you?” the seraph asked gently. Sam's body tensed and Gabriel felt the heat increase. He nodded at Castiel.

“You think it made him sick?” Dean asked, unaware of the angels' silent conversation.

“We think his grace is confused and can't recognize that the danger of freezing has passed,” Gabriel explained, “I'm going to try something. If it doesn't work, though, we're gonna have to stop and get Raphael.”

Dean startled at the seriousness of the statement. They all knew Gabriel wouldn't delay their journey home and involve the other archangel unless absolutely necessary. The hunter looked at his sweat-soaked brother. “What will you do?”

“Instead of trying to make his grace cool, I'll warm mine up. Maybe his will relax if it finds a stronger heat source,” he slowly began to transition the temperature of the energy flow, “I think that's why he's trying to crawl inside your chest right now, but it isn't working because you don't run hot enough.”

Sam stopped pressing closer to Dean as the warmth drew his attention. Fever-bright eyes turned to Gabriel and there were flashes of grace mixed with glossy hazel. The archangel gave him a reassuring smile, recognizing that Sam's adult mind was quickly getting buried under pure instinct, “ **Is that what you wanted, little one? Something warm and safe?** ” The boy whined in the back of his throat and reached for Gabriel, who chuckled and tried to return the little hands back to Dean. “ **It is okay, Samuel. Sit with your brother and I will keep you warm.** Or not, that's cool too. Hold on, kid, let us help...” The back seat became a flurry of motion as Sam swung his feet off the blanket and launched himself at Gabriel.

“Do I need to pull over?” Mary asked.

“No, no, we're good,” Gabriel answered as Dean helped him get Sam better situated.

“Yeah, Sam just decided to try a different seat by throwing himself into it,” Dean said with a exasperated sigh.

“I'll have you know I'm an excellent snuggler!” Gabriel exclaimed. He raised the temperature of his grace even more and was relieved to feel Sam's slow its race toward combustion. The boy was kneeling on the blanket and plastered pitifully into Gabriel's chest. “ **There you go—warm and safe with your family in your little home. Calm down now.** ” He got an arm under Sam's thighs and hoisted him up a bit so the kid didn't have to hold his own weight.

Sam melted against him as the chills died down and his color returned to normal. His grace contentedly curled under Gabriel's continued stream of kindling energy. Once it was clear the boy was settled, Gabriel draped a wing around them without touching the underdeveloped buds. It was the closest he could get to emulating traditional grace-swaddling.

Gabriel met his brother's eyes over the headrest. _What else did you find in that building?_

_It looked like a clinic for animals. There was a cage with restraints built into the floor. I am not certain what all was done to Sam or the condition of the room prior to his grace explosion, but the inside was very cold and damp. The fire sprinklers had also been pouring down water for over an hour before I entered. I found a laptop that seemed intact. It had been knocked under a table and mostly shielded from the water. Raphael retrieved the Tear of God used to banish us. Everything else seemed more or less destroyed._

_Thank you for doing that, Cassie. I...I just couldn't._ Gabriel brought his free hand to the back of Sam's hair and played with the curls.

Castiel offered a small smile. _I understand, brother._

Gabriel wanted to ask about the seraph's conversation with Raphael, but the silence in the car was lingering. And silence gave Sam's thoughts too much space to wander. The rest could wait until later. “Hey Sammy, you wanna hear a story?” he asked in a conspiring whisper. The boy gave a sleepy nod. “Well, let me tell you about how Cassie and I broke a comet in Barnard's galaxy.”

And with that, Gabriel spun the tale of their brief, but rapid, space exploration. He painted a picture of beautiful sights and unimaginable experience. Castiel's voice joined in occasionally to add details unnoticed by Gabriel. Every word captured Sam's complete attention, and he listened in awe-struck silence. Between the two of them, the angels made sure there was no room for thoughts of fear the rest of their journey home.

**Author's Note:**

> Come be my friend on Tumblr @theriverscribe  
> Thanks to everyone who has talked to me through this series. Comments feed my soul!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [How It All Changed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10398129) by [nathyfaith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nathyfaith/pseuds/nathyfaith)




End file.
